On a favourite Dog called Fox.

How fhall I mourn poor Fox's dreaded death!

How fhall I paint the sweetness of his breath!

A life more fage, more pure, there could not be;
My Fox was faithful, diligent and free.

In life no animal we meet so true,

Tho' having reason in preference to you.
But what is reason, fince we daily find

She first instructs, and then deftroys mankind ?—
Fox was wife, and wifer far than man,

Whofe life's a load, whose reason's but a span.
Think then, O reader, ere you depart to duft,

Tho' wrong this thought, the inference is juft.

Another on PERTO.

HAPPY

APPY creature, how secure

From all the troubles we endure

In this corrupted age!

A fordid prudence drew thee hence,
From fraud and fell impertinence,

So rife among the fage.

II. An

Another on MOPSE Y.

WHAT, alas, avails this world,

Or what therein have we to crave? Since all must be like Mopfey hurl'd, Without diftinction, to the grave!

II.

Could we in life our vices fpurn,
Repair our deeds without delay,
And reft, like thee, within our urn,
We should not fear our Judgment Day.

(Engraved on her Tomb.)

NATURE at length with me hath play’d her part,

As with you all, fome once, fhe will exert.
Releas'd am I from care and worldly ftrife,
Which were the rafh decrees of my fhort life.
Short life, indeed! for all the days of man,
Compar'd to future time, is not a span.
By Death I'm freed from forrow, grief and woe,
The bitter pangs with which my heart did flow;

4

Freed

Freed from a world where fraud and vice abound,
I'm now at reft-'till Judgment calls around;
With hopes, on that Great Day, when all and all
Stand forth, that 1, by faith, fhall hear my call
To eternal blifs-

Thro' Chrift alone, who died and rose for all.

Hence learn, however anxious is the heart, So fure as once we meet, fo fure we once must part.

ODE to CHRIST.

O pater! O hominem ! fummi regnati Olympi, dilecti nati, funus crudele videbis.

INSPIRE me, heaven, nor in me leave a thought
Untouch'd, untry'd, to fing a Saviour's praise ;
Free from the vicious pangs of a mind untaught,
May my poor pen his God-like virtues raise.

Yet

Yet ah how vain I try the heav'nly theme,

Or the great task attempt alone to scan! Since he outfhines the luftre of all fame,

Who liv'd a Mortal, and who died a Man.

O for a voice on fire, to ftop the dreaded crime
Of men who live regardless of thy word,
Whofe tranfient pleasure is but lofs of time,
Senfelefs of what fuch lofs will foon afford.

Would but our fellow-creatures hark awhile,
And firive their wand'ring paffions to fubdue,
I'd teach them folace from thy god-like ftile,
To foften forrow, and their joys renew.

For who that follows thee, but lives above
The common fate of irreligious man?
In thee, by FAITH, we tafte celeftial love,
Nor think of life, but as a trifling span.

Superior pleasure doth the mind enjoy,
When moor'd with eafe in refignation's bay;
Where peace prevails-no horrors to annoy,

The blissful moments of a virtuous lay.

The