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The needle's constancy forego
For any novelty, and show

Its variations rather,

Insensibility makes some
Unseasonably deaf and dumb,

When most you need their pity ; 'Tis waiting till the tears shall fall From Gog and Magog in Guildhall,

Those playthings of the city. The great and small but rarely meet On terms of amity complete :

Th' attempt would scarce be madder, Should any from the bottom hope, At one huge stride, to reach the top

Of an erected ladder.
Courtier and patriot cannot mix
Their het’rogeneous politics

Without an effervescence,
Such as of salts with lemon-juice,
But which is rarely known ť induce,

Like that, a coalescence.

Religion should extinguish strife,
And make a calm of human life ;

But even those, who differ
Only on topics left at large,
How fiercely will they meet and charge !

No combatants are stiffer.

To prove, alas ! my main intent,
Needs no great cost of argument,

No cutting and contriving ;

Seeking a real friend, we seem
T'adopt the chemist's golden dream

With still less hope of tbriving.

Then judge, or ere you choose your man,
As circumspectly as you can,

And, having made election,
See that no disrespect of yours,
Such as a friend but ill endures,

Enfeeble his affection.

It is not timber, lead, and stone,
An architect requires alone,

To finish a great building;
The palace were but half complete,
Could he by any chance forget

The carving and the gilding.
As similarity of inind,
Or something not to be defined,

First rivets our attention ;
So manners decent and polite,
The same we practised at first sight,

Must save it from declension.

The man who hails you Tom-or Jack,
And proves by thumping on your back,

His sense of your great merit,
Is such a friend, that one had need
Be very much his friend indeed,

To pardon, or to bear it. Some friends make this their prudent plan"Say little, and hear all you can ;

Safe policy, but hateful ;

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So barren sands imbibe the show'r,
But render neither fruit nor flow'r,

Unpleasant and ungrateful.

They whisper trivial things, and sınall ; But, to communicate at all

Things serious, deem improper ; Their feculence and froth they show, But keep the best contents below,

Just like a simm'ring copper. These samples (for alas ! at last These are but samples, and a taste

Of evils yet unmention'd) May prove the task, a task indeed, In which 'tis much, if we succeed,

However well-intention'd.

Pursue the theme, and you shall find
A disciplined and furnish'd mind

To be at least expedient,
And, after summing all the rest,
Religion ruling in the breast

A principal ingredient. True friendship has, in short, a grace, More than terrestrial in its face,

That proves it Heav'n-descended : Man's love of woman not so pure, Nor, when sincerest, so secure

To last till life is ended,




OLL for the brave !

The brave that are no more !
All sunk beneath the wave,

Fast by their native shore !

Eight hundred of the brave,

Whose courage well was tried,
Had made the vessel heel,

And laid her on her side.

A land breeze shook the shrouds,

And she was overset;
Down went the Royal George,

With all her crew complete.

Toll for the brave !

Brave Kempenfelt is gone ;
His last sea-fight is fought;

His work of glory done.

It was not in the battle ;

No tempest gave the shock ;
She sprang no fatal leak;

She ran upon no rock.

His sword was in its sheath ;

His fingers held the pen,
When Kempenfelt went down,

With twice four hundred men.

Weigh the vessel up,

Once dreaded by our foes ! And mingle with our cup

The tear that England owes.


THEN all within is peace,

How Nature seems to smile ! Delights that never cease,

The livelong day beguile. From morn to dewy eve,

With open hand she showers Fresh blessings, to deceive

And soothe the silent hours. It is content of heart

Gives Nature power to please ; The mind that feels no smart,

Enlivens all it sees ; Can make a wintry sky

Seem bright as smiling May, And evening's closing eye,

As peep of early day. The vast majestic globe,

So beauteously array'd In Nature's various robe,

With wondrous skill display'd, Is to a mourner's heart

A dreary wild at best ; It flutters to depart,

And longs to be at rest.

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