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"Meanwhile no more thy spleen be shewn

"Hast thou no failings of thine own,

"No ruling passion in thy breast,

"That robs thee of thy balmy rest? "
Yes, yes, I cry-to all mankind
Their frailties are by fate assign'd,
And he's the happiest and the best,
Who with the fewest is opprest;

In me,
I must confess my FAILING,
An itch for scribbling is prevailing,
A vice which many a rhyming elf
Partakes in common with myself,
And since administration tries
Such various means to raise supplies,
I wonder much they ne'er determine
To raise a tax on all such vermin,
And claim a shilling in the pound
Of all who tread poetic ground;
No bard to HELICON should ride,
Unless he first were qualified,

For PEGASUS his money pay,

And shew his ticket for the day;

Since ministers find such resources

In men's absurd and vicious courses,
And vanity and ostentation

Are deem'd fit subjects for taxation,

Sure they might fine the brains of those

Who sin no less in filthy prose,

And gold by chymick art distil

From essence of the gray goose quill:

Which though 'twould savour of extorting

From men of very slender fortune,

Such as all meaner arts disown,

And live upon their wits alone,
Must at a moderate computation,
Raise half a million to the nation.

But if the truth I must impart, And say

what PASSION rules my heart,

No thirst for honours wealth or pow'r

E'er robb'd me of one quiet hour,

No party-zeal, no factious aim

Torment me with their raging flame,

Tt

But anxious thoughts for England's sake
Will oft' the slumbring muse awake,

And hopes to please in faithful strain
The wise, the virtuous, and humane,
My soul with strong ambition fir'd,
And these incondite rhymes inspir'd,
Taught me to think no toil severe
Awhile to catch their list'ning ear,
And make their smiles and approbation

The object of my SPECULATION.

CHARITY;

A

POETICAL PARAPHRASE

OF THE THIRTEENTH CHAPTER

OF

ST. PAUL'S FIRST EPISTLE

то

THE CORINTHIANS.

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