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A man renown'd for repartee
Will seldom scruple to make free

With friendship's finest feeling,
Win thrust a darger at your breast,
And say he vrokirded you in jest

By way of balm for bouling.

Whoever keeps an open ear
For tattlers, will be sure to hear

The trumpet of contention :
Aspersion is the babbler's trad.
To listen is to lend him aid,

And rush into dissension.

A friendship, that in frequent fits
Of controversial rage emits

The sparks of disputation,
Like Hand-in-hand insurance plates,
Most unavoidably creates

The thought of conflagration.

Some fickle creatures boast a soul
True as a needle to the pole,

Their humour yet so various-
They manifest their whole life through
The needle's deviations too,

Their love is so precarious.

The great and small but rarely meet
On terms of amity complete ;

Plebeians must surrender
And yield so much to noble folk,
It is combining fire with smoke,

Obscurity with splendour.

Some are so placid and serene
(As Irish bogs are always green)

They sleep secure from waking
And are indeed a bng, that bears
Your unparticipa cá cares

Unmoved and without quaking

Courtier and patriot cannot mix
Their heterogeneous politins

Without an effervescence,
Like that of salts with lemon-juice,
Which does not yet like thac produce

A friendly coalescence.

Religion should extinguish strife,
And make a calm of human life ;

But friends that chance to differ
On points which God has left at large,
How freely will they meet and charge !

No combatants are stiffer.

To prove at last my main intent
Needs no expense of argument,

No cutting and contriving-
Seeking a real friend we seem
To adopt the chymist's golden dream,

With still less hope of thriving.

Sometimes the fault is all our own, Some blemish in due time made known

By trespass or omission; Sometimes occasion brings to light Our friend's defect, long bid from sight,

And even from suspicion.

Then judge yourself, and prove your mus As circumspectly as you can,

And, having made election, Beware no negligence of yours, Such as a friend but ill endures,

Enfeeble his affection.

That secrets are a sacred trust,
That friends should be sincere and just

That constancy befits them,
Are observations on the case,
That savour much of common-place,

And all the world admits them.

Bat 'tis not timber, lead, and stone,
An architect requires alone,

To finish a fine building-
The palace were but half complete,
If he could possibly forget

The carving and the gilding.

The man that bails you Tom or Jack,
And proves by thumps upon your back

How he esteems your merit,
Is such a friend, that one had need
Be very much his friend indeed,

To pardon or to bear it.

As similarity of mind,
Or something not to be defined,

First fixes our attention;
So manners decent and polite,
The same we practised at first sight,

Must save it from declension.

Some act upon this prudent plan,
• Say little, and hear all you can.'

Safe policy, but hateful-
So barren sands imbibe the shower,
But render neither fruit nor flower

Unpleasant and ungrateful.

The man I trust, if shy to me,
Sball find me as reserved as ho;

No subterfuge or pleading
Shall win my confidence again;
I will by no means entertain

A spy on my proceeding.

These samples for alas! at last
These are but samples, and a tasto

Of evils yet unmention'da
May prove the task a task indeed
In which 'tis much if we succeed

Hotever well-intention'd.


Pursue the search, and you will find
Good sense and knowledge of mankind

To be at least expedient;
And, after summing all the rest,
Religion ruling in the breast

A principal ingredient.
The noblest friendship ever shewn
The Saviour's history makes known,

Though some have turn'd and turn'd it!
And, whether being crazed or blind,
Or seeking with a bias'd mind,

Have not, it seems, discern'd it.
0, Friendship, if my soul forego
Thy dear delights while here below;

To mortify and grieve me,
May I myself at last appear
Unworthy, base, and insincere,
· Or may my friend deceive me!





Go-thou art all unfit to share

The pleasures of this place
With such as its old tenants are,

Creatures of gender race.
The squirrel here his hoard provides,

Aware of wintry storms,
And woodpeckers explore the sides

Of rugged oaks for worms.
The sheep here smoothes the knotted thorn,

With frictions of her fleece;
And here I wander eve and morn,

Like her a friend to peace.

Ah ! I could pity thee exiled

From this secure retreat-
I would not lose it to be styled

The happiest of the great.
But thou canst taste no calm delight;

Thy pleasure is to shew
Thy magnanimity in fight,

Thy prowess—therefore go-
I care not whether east or north,

So I no more may find thee;
The angry Muse thus sings thee forth,

And claps the gate behind thee.




I RANSACK'D, for a theme of song,
Much ancient chronicle, and long;
I read of bright embattled fields,
Of trophied helmets, spears, and shields,
Of chiefs, whose single arm could boast
Prowess to dissipate a host :
Through tomes of fable and of dream
I sought an eligible theme,
But none I found, or found them shared
Already by some happier bard.

To modern times, with Truth to guido
My busy search, I next applied ;
Here cities won, and fleets dispersed,
Urged loud a claim to be rehearsed,
Deeds of unperishing renown,
Our fathers' triumphs and our own.

Thus, as the bee, from bank to bower,
Assiduous sips at every flower,
But rests on none, till that be found,
Where most nectareous sweets abound,
80 I from theme to theme display'd

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