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Her golden tube, through which a sensual world
Draws grofs impurity, and likes it well,

The neat conveyance hiding all the offence.
Not that he peevishly rejects a mode
Because that world adopts it. If it bear

The ftamp and clear impreffion of good sense,
And be not coftly more than of true worth,
He puts it on, and for decorum fake
Can wear it e'en as gracefully as fhe.

She judges of refinement by the eye,
He by the teft of conscience, and a heart
Not foon deceived; aware that what is base
No polish can make sterling; and that vice,
Though well perfumed and elegantly dreffed,
Lie an unburied carcase tricked with flowers,
Is but a garnished nuifance, fitter far
For cleanly riddance than for fair attire.

So life glides fmoothly and by ftealth away,
More golden than that age of fabled gold
Ronowned in ancient fong; not vexed with care
Or ftained with guilt, beneficent, approved

Of God and man, and peaceful in its end.
So glide my life away! and fo at laft,
My fhare of duties decently fulfilled,
Ma fome disease, not tardy to perform
Its deftined office, yet with gentle ftroke,

Difmifs me weary to a fafe retreat,

Beneath the turf, that I have often trod.

It shall not grieve me then, that once, when called To drefs a Sofa with the flowers of verfe,

I played awhile, obedient to the fair,

With that light tafk; but foon, to please her more,
Whom flowers alone I knew would little please,
Let fall the unfinished wreath, and roved for fruit ;
Roved far, and gathered much: fome harfh, 'tis true,
Picked from the thorns and briars of reproof,
But wholesome, well-digefted; grateful fome
To palates, that can tafte immortal truth;
Infipid elfe, and fure to be despised.
But all is in his hand, whofe praise I seek.
In vain the poet fings, and the world hears,
If he regard not, though divine the theme.
'Tis not in artful measures, in the chime
And idle tinkling of a minstrel's lyre,

To charm his ear, whofe eye is on the heart;
Whofe frown can difappoint the proudeft ftrain,
Whofe approbation-prosper even mine.

AN

EPISTLE

ΤΟ

JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

DEAR JOSEPH-five and twenty years ago—
Alas how time escapes!-'tis even fo—
With frequent intercourse, and always sweet,
And always friendly, we were wont to cheat
A tedious hour-and now we never meet!
As fome grave gentleman in Terence fays,
('Twas therefore much the fame in ancient days)
Good lack, we know not what to-morrow brings-
Strange fluctuation of all human things!
True. Changes will befall, and friends may part,
But diftance only cannot change the heart:

And, were I called to prove the affertion true,
One proof fhould ferve-a reference to you.

Whence comes it then, that in the wane of life, Though nothing have occurred to kindle ftrife, We find the friends we fancied we had won, Though numerous once, reduced to few or none? Can gold grow worthlefs that has stood the touch? No; gold they seemed, but they were never fuch.

Horatio's fervant once, with bow and cringe,
Swinging the parlour-door upon its hinge,
Dreading a negative, and overawed

Left he should trefpafs, begged to go abroad.
Go, fellow! -whither?-turning short about-
Nay. Stay at home-you are always going out.
'Tis but a ftep, fir, juft at the ftreet's end.-

For what? An please you, fir, to fee a friend.—
A friend Horatio cried, and feemed to ftart-
Yea marry fhalt thou, and with all my heart.-
And fetch my cloak; for though the night be raw
I'll fee him too-the firft I ever faw.

I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, And was his plaything often when a child;

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