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

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

The carving and the gilding.

The man that hails 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 fimilarity of mind,
Or something not to be defined,

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

Muft save it from declension.

Some act upon this prudent plan,

Say little and hear all you can.

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

Unpleasant and ungrateful.

The man I trust, if shy to me,
Shall find me as reserved he,

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 laft
These are but samples, and a taste

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

However well-intentioned.

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

To be at leaft expedient,
And after summing all the reft,
Religion ruling in the breaft

A principal ingredient.

The noblest Friendship ever shewn
The Saviour's history makes known,

Though some have tumed and turned it;
And whether being crazed or blind,
Or seeking with a biased mind,

Have not, it seems, discerned it.

Oh 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!


Subjoined to the Yearly Bill of Mortality of the

Parish of


Anno Domini 1787.

Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas, Regumque turres.


Pale death with equal foot strikes wide the door
Of royal halls, and hovels of the poor.

While thirteen moons saw smoothly run

The Nen's barge-laden wave,
All these, life's rambling journey done,

Have found their home, the grave.

Was man (frail always) made more frail

Than in foregoing years?
Did famine or did plague prevail,

That so much death appears ?

No; these were vigorous as their fires,

Nor plague nor famine came; This annual tribute death requires,

And never waves his claim.

Like crowded forest-trees we stand,

And some are marked to fall; The axe will fmite at God's command,

And foon shall smite us all.

Green as the bay-tree, ever green,

With its new foliage on, The gay, the thoughtless, I have seen,

I passed and they were gone.

Read, ye that run, the solemn truth,

With which I charge my page; A worm is in the bud of youth,

And at the root of age.

No present health can health insure

For yet an hour to come;
No medicine, though it often cure,

Can always baulk the tomb.


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