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Her golden tube, through which a sensual world
Draws gross 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 stamp and clear impression of good sense,
And be not costly more than of true worth,
He
puts

it
on,

and for decorum fake
Can wear it e'en as gracefully as she.
She judges of refinement by the eye,
He by the test 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 dressed,
Like an unburied carcase tricked with flowers,
Is but a garnished nuisance, fitter far
For cleanly riddance than for fair attire.
So life glides smoothly and by stealth away,
More golden than that age of fabled gold
Renowned in ancient song; not vexed with care
Or stained with guilt, beneficent, approved
Of God and man, and peaceful in its end.
So glide my life away! and so at laft,
My share of duties decently fulfilled,
May fome disease, not tardy to perform
Its destined office, yet with gentle stroke,

Disiniss me weary to a safe retreat,
Beneath the turf, that I have often trod.
It shall not grieve me then, that once, when called
To dress a Sofa with the flowers of verse,
I played awhile, obedient to the fair, ,
With that light task; 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 harsh, 'tis true,
Picked from the thorns and briars of reproof,
But wholesome, well-digested; grateful some
To palates, that can taste immortal truth;
Infipid else, and sure to be despised.
But all is in his hand, whose praise I seek.
In vain the poet sings, 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, whose eye is on the heart;
Whose frown can disappoint the proudeft ftrain,
Whose approbation-profper even mine.

3

AN

EPISTLE

TO

JOSEPH HILL, ESQ.

DEAR

EAR Joseph--five and twenty years ago. Alas how time escapes!—'tis even foWith frequent intercourse, and always sweet, And always friendly, we were wont to cheat A tedious hour-and now we never meet ! As some grave gentleman in Terence says, ('Twas therefore much the same in ancient days) Good lack, we know not what to-morrow bringsStrange Auctuation of all human things! True. Changes will befall, and friends may part, But distance only cannot change the heart :

And, were I called to prove the affertion true,
One proof should serve-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 worthless that has stood the touch? No; gold they seemed, but they were never such.

Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe, Swinging the parlour-door upon its hinge, Dreading a negative, and overawed Left he should trespass, begged to go abroad. Gu, fellow!-whither?-turning short about Nay. Stay at home you are always going out. 'Tis but a step, fir, juft at the street's end.For what? — An please you, fir, to see a friend. A friend! Horatio cried, and seemed to startYea marry shalt thou, and with all my heart.And fetch my cloak ; for though the night be raw I'll see him too--the firft I ever saw,

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

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