For any novelty, and show Insensibility makes some When most you need their pity; The great and small but rarely meet The attempt would scarce be madder, Of an erected ladder. Courtier and patriot cannot, mix Their heterogeneous politics Without an effervescence, Such as of salts with lemon juice Religion should extinguish strife, But even those who differ Only on topics left at large; 105 110 115 120 How fiercely will they meet and charge; 125 No combatants are stiffer. To prove, alas! my main intent, To adopt the chemist's golden dream Then judge, or ere you choose your man And, having made election, It is not timber, lead, and stone, To finish a great building; The palace were but half complete, As similarity of mind, Or something not to be defined, Must save it from declension. The man who hails you Tom or Jack, 130 135 140 145 150 His sense of your great merit, Is such a friend, that one had need 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, They whisper trivial things, and small, Things serious, deem improper; These samples (for alas! at last Pursue the theme, and you shall find To be at least expedient; 155 160 165 170 175 And after summing all the rest, True friendship has, in short, a grace That proves it heaven-descended: To last till life is ended. 180 185 ON THE LOSS OF THE ROYAL GEORGE° [To the March in “Scipio"] WRITTEN WHEN THE NEWS ARRIVED Down went the Royal George, 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; His sword was in his sheath; Weigh the vessel up, Once dreaded by our foes! And mingle with our cup The tear that England owes. Her timbers yet are sound, And she may float again Full-charged with England's thunder, And plough the distant main. But Kempenfelt is gone, His victories are o'er; |