The great and small but rarely meet The attempt would scarce be madder, Courtier and patriot cannot mix Religion should extinguish strife, And make a calm of human life: Only on topics left at large, How fiercely will they meet and charge! To No combatants are stiffer. prove, alas! my main intent, Needs no great cost of argument, No cutting and contriving; 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, To finish a great building; The palace were but half complete, The carving and the gilding. As similarity of mind, Or something not to be defined, The man who hails you Tom or Jack, Is such a friend, that one had need To pardon or to bear it. Some friends make this their prudent plan 66 Say little, and hear all you can ;" Safe policy, but hateful: So barren sands imbibe the shower, But render neither fruit nor flower, They whisper trivial things, and small; Things serious, deem improper; Just like a simmering copper. These samples (for, alas! at last May prove the task, a task indeed, Pursue the theme, and you shall find True friendship has, in short, a grace That proves it Heaven-descended; Man's love of woman not so pure, TO MRS. THROCKMORTON, ON HER BEAUTIFUL TRANSCRIPT OF HORACE'S ODE, "AD LIBRUM SUUM.' [February, 1790.] MARIA, Could Horace have guess'd What honour awaited his ode To his own little volume address'd, The honour which you have bestow'd, Who have traced it in characters here, So elegant, even, and neat, He had laugh'd at the critical sneer Which he seems to have trembled to meet. And sneer, if you please, he had said, A nymph shall hereafter arise Who shall give me, when you are all dead, Although but a mere bagatelle; And even a Poet shall say, Nothing ever was written so well. ON A MISCHIEVOUS BULL, WHICH THE OWNER OF HIM SOLD AT THE AUTHOR'S INSTANCE. Go-thou art all unfit to share The pleasures of this place The squirrel here his hoard provides, Aware of wintry storms, And woodpeckers explore the sides Of rugged oaks, for worms. The sheep here smoothes the knotted thorn With frictions of her fleece; And here I wander, eve and morn, Like her, a friend to peace. Ah!-I could pity thee exiled But thou canst taste no calm delight; Thy magnanimity in fight, Thy prowess-therefore go I care not whether east or north, ON THE QUEEN'S VISIT TO LONDON, THE NIGHT OF THE SEVENTEENTH OF MARCH, 1789. WHEN, long sequester'd from his throne, George took his seat again, By right of worth, not blood alone, Entitled here to reign, |