SONNET, ADDRESSED TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. [June 2, 1792.] HAYLEY-thy tenderness fraternal shown, In our first interview, delightful guest! To Mary and me for her dear sake distress'd, Sent Thee to mitigate the dreadful blow, Thy true deserts infallibly to scan, Not more t' admire the Bard than love the Mau. CATHARINA: THE SECOND PART. On her Marriage to George Courtenay, Esq. [June 1792.] BELIEVE it or not, as you chuse, I did but express a desire, To see Catharina at home, At the side of my friend George's fire, Such prophecy some may despise, Perhaps is approv'd in the skies, And therefore attains to its end. 'Twas a wish that fiew ardently forth From a bosom effectually warm'd With the talents, the graces, and worth Maria would leave us, I knew, To the grief and regret of us all, * Lady Throckmorton. But less to our grief, could we view And therefore this union of hands Since therefore I seem to incur And now I will try with another, Which I cannot suppress for my life--- AN EPITAPH. [1792.] HERE lies one, who never drew Armed men have gladly made Him their guide, and him obey'd At his signified desire, Would advance, present, and Fire--- Scores have fled at sight of him; And to all this fame he rose Neptune was he call'd, not He EPITAPH ON FOP, A DOG BELONGING TO LADY THROCKMORTON. [August 1792.] THOUGH Once a puppy, and though Fop by name, Here moulders One whose bones some honor claim. No sycophant, although of spaniel race, And though no hound, a martyr to the chace Ye squirrels, rabbits, leverets, rejoice, Your haunts no longer echo to his voice; "Yes" the indignant shade of Fop replies"And worn with vain pursuit Man also dies." U SONNET ΤΟ GEORGE ROMNEY, ESQ. ON His picture of me in Crayons, drawn at Eartham in the 61st year of my age, and in the months of August and September 1792. [October 1792.] ROMNEY, expert infallibly to trace On chart or canvas, not the form alone Thou hast so pencill'd mine, that though I own The artist shining with superior grace. But this I mark-that symptoms none of wo Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear; For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see |