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I would not trust my heart....the dear delight
Thou, as a gallant bark from Albion's coast
s'ant from a prosp'rous course.
But higher far my proud pretensions rise....
266 TO THE REV, WM. CAWTHORNE UNWIX.
REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORNE UNWIN.
UNWIN, I should but ill rep ay
The kindness of a friend,
As ever friendship penn'd,
An union form’d, as mine with thee,
Not rashly, or in sport,
And faithful in its sort,
The bud inserted in the rind,
The bud of peach or rose, Adorns, though diff’ring in its kind,
The stock whereon it grows, With flow'r as sweet, or fruit as fair, As if produc'd by nature there.
TO THE REV. WM. CAWTHORNE UNWIN.
Not rich, I render what I may....
I seize thy name in haste, And place it in this first essay,
Lest this should prove the last. 'Tis where it should be....in a plan That holds in view the good of man.
The poet's lyre, to fix his fame,
Should be the poet's heart;
Than ever blaz'd by art.
END OF THE FIRST VOLUME.