TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF THE HALIBUT ON WHICH I DINED THIS DAY, MONDAY, APRIL 26, 1784. WHERE hast thou floated? in what seas pursued Roar as they might, the overbearing winds That rocked the deep, thy cradle, thou wast safe- Attached to the firm leaf of some salt weed, Wherever thou hast fed, thou little thought'st, Peace, therefore, and good health, and much good fish, As it descends into the billowy gulf, To the same drag that caught thee!-Fare thee well! Would envy, could they know that thou wast doomed TO A LADY WHO WORE A LOCK OF HIS HAIR SET WITH DIAMONDS. 356 ON THE AUTHOR OF “LETTERS ON LITERATURE.” WRITTEN ON A PAGE OF "THE MONTHLY REVIEW," WHICH HAD SPOKEN OF MR. NEWTON'S OPINIONS AS CANT. 1784. THESE critics, who to faith no quarter grant, Than Christ's own servant, or that servant's Master. EPITAPH ON DR. JOHNSON. HERE Johnson lies, a sage by all allowed, Whom to have bred may well make England proud; Whose verse may claim, grave, masculine, and strong, Who many a noble gift from Heaven possessed, And faith at last, alone worth all the rest. O man, immortal by a double prize, ON THE AUTHOR OF "LETTERS ON LITERATURE." THE genius of the Augustan age His head among Rome's ruins reared, And bursting with heroic rage, "Thou hast," he cried, "like him of old By being scandalously bold, Attained the mark of thy desire; "And for traducing Virgil's name Shalt share his merited reward; A perpetuity of fame, That rots, and stinks, and is abhorred." * Nominally by Robert Heron, but written by John Pinkerton. 8vo. 1785. THE YEARLY DISTRESS; OR, TITHING TIME AT STOCK, IN ESSEX. Verses addressed to a country Clergyman, complaining of the disagreeableness of the day annually appointed for receiving the dues at the Parsonage. COME, ponder well, for 'tis no jest, To laugh it would be wrong, This priest he merry is and blithe He then is full of frights and fears, For then the farmers come jog, jog, To make their payments good. In sooth, the sorrow of such days When he that takes, and he that pays, Now, all unwelcome at his gates, The clumsy swains alight, With rueful faces and bald patesHe trembles at the sight. And well he may, for well he knows Each bumpkin of the clan, Instead of paying what he owes, Will cheat him if he can. So in they come-each makes his leg, "And how does Miss and Madam do, 'The little boy and all ?" LINES COMPOSED FOR A MEMORIAL OF ASHLEY COWPER, ESQ. IMMEDIATELY AFTER HIS DEATH, BY HIS NEPHEW WILLIAM OF WESTON. FAREWELL! endued with all that could engage In life's last stage, (O blessing rarely found!) Marble may flatter, and lest this should seem SONNET, ADDRESSED TO HENRY COWPER, ESQ. On his emphatical and interesting delivery of the defence of Warren Hastings, Esq. in the House of Lords. COWPER, whose silver voice, tasked sometimes hard, (Attentive when thou readest) of England's peers, Let verse at length yield thee thy just reward. Thou wast not heard with drowsy disregard, Expending late on all that length of plea Thy generous powers; but silence honoured thee, Thou art not voice alone, but hast beside Both heart and head; and couldst with music sweet Of Attic phrase and senatorial tone, Like thy renowned forefathers, far and wide |