CCVIII.

If, after all, there should be some so blind

To their own good this warning to despise,
Led by some tortuosity of mind,

Not to believe my verse and their own eyes,
And cry that they,,the moral cannot find,"
I tell him, if a clergyman, he lies;
Should captains the remark or critics make,
They also lie too - under a mistake.

CCIX.

The public approbation I expect,

And beg they'll take my word about the moral, Which I with their amusement will connect, (So children cutting teeth receive a coral); Meantime, they'll doubtless please to recollect My epical pretensions to the laurel:

For fear some prudish readers should grow skittish, I've bribed my grandmothers review the British.

4

CCX.

I sent it in a letter to the editor,

Who thank'd me duly by return of post I'm for a handsome article his creditor; Yet if my gentle Muse he please to roast, And break a promise after having made it her, Denying the receipt of what it cost,

And smear his page with gall instead of honey, All I can say is that he had the money.

CCXI.

I think that with this holy new alliance
I may ensure the public, and defy
All other magazines of art or science,

Daily, or monthly, or three monthly, I
Have not essay'd to multiply their clients,

Because they tell me 'twere in vain to try, And that the Edinburgh Review and Quarterly Treat a dissenting author very martyrly.

CCXII.

,,Non ego hoc ferrem calida juventâ

Consule Planco," Horace said, and so Say I; by which quotation there is meant a

Hint that some six or seven good years ago (Long ere I dreamt of dating from the Brenta I was most ready to return a blow,

And would not brook at all this sort of thinganda In my hot youth when George the Third was King

ÇCXIII

But now at thirty years my hair is gray (I wonder what it will be like at forty?

I thought of a peruke the other day)

My heart is not much greener; and, in short; I Have squander'd my whole summer while 'twas

May,

And feel no more the spirit to retort; I

Have spent my life, both interest and principal, And deem not, what I deem'd, my soul invincible.

Vol. IX.

H

CCXIV.

No more no more → Oh! never more on me The freshness of the heart can fall like dew, Which out of all the lovely things we see

Extracts emotions beautiful and new,

Hived in our bosoms like the bag o'the bee:
Think'st thou the honey with those objects grew?
Alas! 'twas not in them, but in thy power
To double even the sweetness of a flower.

CCXV.

No more no more-Oh! never more, my heart,

Canst thou be my sole world, my universe! Once all in all, but now a thing apart,

Thou canst not be my blessing or my curse: The illusion's gone for ever, and thou art

Insensible, I trust, but none the worse,

And in thy stead I've got a deal of judgment, Though heaven knows how it ever found a lod

gement.

7

CCXVI.

My days of love are over, me no more 7
The charms of maid, wife, and still less of widow,
Can make the fool of which they made before,
In short, I must not lead the life I did do;
The credulous hope of mutual minds is o'er,
The copious use of claret is forbid too,
So for a good old - gentlemanly vice,

I think I must take up with avarice.

CCXVII.

Ambition was my idol,

which was broken

Before the shrines of Sorrow and of Pleasure; And the two last have left me many a token

O'er which reflection may be made at leisure: Now, like Friar Bacon's brazen head, I've spoken, ,,Time is, Time was, Time's past," a chymic treasure

Is glittering youth, which I have spent betimes
My heart in passion, and my head on rhymes.