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But less to our grief, could we view
Catharina the queen of the hall.
And therefore I wished as I did,

And therefore this union of hands
Not a whisper was heard to forbid,
But all cry-amen--to the bans.

Since therefore I seem to incur
No danger of wishing in vain,
When making good wishes for her,
I will e'en to my wishes again-
With one I have made her a wife,
And now I will try with another,
Which I cannot suppress for my

life-
How soon I can make her a mother.

SONNET.

TO 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.

ROMNEY expert, infallibly to trace

On chart or canvass, not the form alone And semblance, but, however faintly shown, The mind's impression too on every faceWith strokes that time ought never to erase, Thou hast so penciled mine, that though. I own The subject worthless, I have never known The artist shining with superior grace. But this I mark-that symptons none of wo In thy incomparable work appear.

Well I am satisfied it should be so,

Since, on maturer thought, the cause is clear For in my looks what sorrow couldst thou see When I was Haley's guest, and sat to thee?

ON RECEIVING HALEY'S PICTURE.

IN language warm as could be breathed or penned,
Thy picture speaks th' original, my friend,
Not by those looks that indicate thy mind-
They only speak thee friend of all mankind;
Expression here more soothing still I see,
That friend of all a partial friend to me.

ON A PLANT OF VIRGIN'S BOWER.

DESIGNED TO COVER A GARDEN SEAT.

THRIVE, gentle plant! and weave a bower
For Mary and for me,

And deck with many a splendid flower
Thy foliage large and free.

Thou cam'st from Eartham, and wilt shade
(If truly I divine)

Some future day th' illustrious head

Of him who made thee mine.

Should Daphne show a jealous frown,
And envy seize the bay,
Affirming none so fit to crown,

Such honoured brows as they.

Thy cause with zeal we shall defend,
And with convincing power;
For why should not the virgin's friend
Be crowned with virgin's bower?

TO MY COUSIN, ANNE BODHAM,

ON RECEIVING FROM HER A NET-WORK PURSE, MADE BY HER

SELF.

My gentle Anne, whom heretofore,

When I was young, and thou no more

Than plaything for a nurse,
I danced and fondled on my knee,
A kitten both in size and glee,
I thank thee for my purse.

Gold pays the worth of all things here;
But not of love;-that gem's too dear
For richest rogues to win it;

I, therefore, as a proof of love,
Esteem thy present far above
The best things kept within it.

TO MRS. UNWIN.

MARY! I want a lyre with other strings,
Such aid from heaven as some have feigned they
drew,

An eloquence scarce given to mortals, new
And undebased by praise of meaner things,
That ere through age or wo I shed my wings,
I may record thy worth with honour due,
In verse as musical as thou art true,
And that immortalizes whom it sings.

But thou hast little need. There is a book
By seraphs writ with beams of heavenly light,
On which the eyes of God not rarely look,
A chronicle of actions just and bright;

There all thy deeds, my faithful Mary, shine,
And, since thou own'st that praise, I spare thee
mine.

TO WILLIAM HAYLEY, ESQ. DEAR architect of fine CHATEAUX in air, Worthier to stand for ever, if they could, Than any built of stone, or yet of wood,

For back of royal elephant to bear!
O for permission from the skies to share,
Much to my own, though little to thy good,
With thee (not subject to the jealous mood!)
A partnership of literary ware!

But I am bankrupt now; and doomed henceforth
To drudge, in descant dry, on others' lays;
Bards, I acknowledge, of unequalled worth!
But what is commentator's happiest praise!

That he has furnished lights for other eyes,
Which they, who need them use, and then despise.

ON A SPANIEL, CALLED BEAU,

KILLING A YOUNG BIRD.

A SPANIEL, Beau, that fares like you,
Well-fed, and at his ease,
Should wiser be than to pursue
Each trifle that he sees.

But

you have killed a tiny bird,
Which flew not till to-day,

Against my orders, whom you heard
Forbidding you the prey.

Nor did you kill that you might eat,
And ease a doggish pain,

For him, though chased with furious heat,
You left where he was slain.

Nor was he of the thievish sort,
Or one whom blood allures,
But innocent was all his sport
Whom you have torn for yours.

My dog! what remedy remains,
Since, teach you all I can,

I see you, after all my pains,
So much resemble man?

BEAU'S REPLY.

SIR, when I flew to seize the bird
In spite of your command,
A louder voice than yours I heard,
And harder to withstand.

You cried-forbear-but in my breast
A mightier cried--proceed-
"Twas Nature, sir, whose strong behest
Impelled me to the deed.

Yet much as nature I respect,
I ventured once to break,
(As you perhaps may recollect)
Her precept for your sake;

And when your linnet on a day,
Passing his prison door,

Had fluttered all his strength away,
And panting pressed the floor,

Well knowing him a sacred thing,
Not destined to my tooth,
I only kissed his ruffled wing,
And licked the feathers smooth.

Let my obedience then excuse
My disobedience now,

Nor some reproof yourselves refuse
From your aggrieved bow-wow;

If killing birds be such a crime,
(Which I can hardly see,)

What think you, sir, of killing Time With verse addressed to me?

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