My fon! my fon! may kinder stars And may those pleafures gild thy reign, God keep thee frae thy mother's faes, Or turn their hearts to thee: And where thou meet'ft thy mother's friend, Remember him for me! O! foon, to me, may fummer-funs Wave o'er the yellow corn! And in the narrow houfe o' death Let winter round me rave; And the next flow'rs, that deck the spring, TO то R***** G***** OF F*****, Esq. LATE crippl'd of an arm, and now a leg, Will generous G***** lift to his Poet's wail? (It foothes poor Mifery, hearkning to her tale), M 3 And And hear him curfe the light he first survey'd And doubly curfe the lucklefs rhyming trade. Thou, Nature, partial Nature, I arraign; Of thy caprice maternal I complain. The lion and the bull thy care have found, One fhakes the forefts, and one fpurns the ground: Thou giv'ft the ass his hide, the fnail his shell, Th' envenom'd wafp, victorious, guards his cell. Thy minions, kings defend, controul, devour. In all th' omnipotence of rule and power.Foxes and statesmen, fubtile wiles enfure; The cit and polecat ftink, and are fecure. Toads with their poifon, doctors with their drug, The priest and hedgehog in their robes, are fnug. Ev'n Ev'n filly woman has her warlike arts, Her tongue and eyes, her dreaded fpear and darts. But Oh! thou bitter step-mother and hard, To thy poor, fencelefs, naked child-the Bard! A thing unteachable in world's skill, And half an idiot too, more helpless still. No horns, but thofe by lucklefs Hymen worn, Critics appall'd, I venture on the name, Those cut-throat bandits in the paths of fame : Bloody diffectors, worse than ten Monroes; He hacks to teach, they mangle to expose. His heart by caufelefs wanton malice wrung, By blockhead's daring into madness stung; His well-won bays, than life itself more dear, By mifcreants torn, who ne'er one sprig muft wear : Foil'd, bleeding, tortur'd, in th' unequal strife, The hapless Poet flounders on thro' life. Till fled each hope that once his bofom fir'd, And fled each Mufe that glorious once in fpir'd, Low-funk in fqualid, unprotected age, Dead, even refentment, for his injur'd page, tic's rage! So, |