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But waged with death a lasting strife,
To check the vessel's course,
That pitiless perforce,
And, such as storms allow,
Delay'd not to bestow.
Their haste himself condemn,
Alone could rescue them;
In ocean, self-upheld;
His destiny repell’d;
His comrades, who before
Could catch the sound no more :
For then, by toil subdued, he drank
Of narrative sincere,
Is wet with Anson's tear :
Descanting on his fate,
A more enduring date :
No light propitious shone,
We perish'd, each alone:
Hic sepultus est
Unicus, unicè dilectus,
Aprilis die septimo,
1780, Æt. 10. Care, vale! Sed non æternum, care, valeto!
Namque iterum tecum, sim modò dignus, ero. Tum nihil amplexus poterit divellere nostros,
Nec tu marcesces, nec lacrymabor ego.
FAREWELL! “But not for ever," Hope replies,
I am just two and two, I am warm, I am cold,
A RIDDLE by Cowper
Made me swear like a trooper ;
For remembering the bliss
Of beauty's soft Kiss,
IN SEDITIONEM HORRENDAM,
CORRUPTELIS GALLICIS, UT FERTUR, LONDINI NUPER EXORTAY. PERFIDA, crudelis, victa et lymphata furore,
Non armis, laurum Gallia fraude petit. Venalem pretio plebem conducit, et urit
Undique privatas patriciasque domos.
Posse tamen nostrâ nos superare manu.
Nam mites timidis supplicibusque sumus.
FALSE, cruel, disappointed, stung to the heart,
Cowper had sinn'd with some excuse,
If, bound in rhyming tethers,
Of changing ewes for wethers?;
I I have heard about my wether mutton from various quarters. It was a blunder hardly pardonable in a man who has lived amid fields and meadows, grazed by sheep, almost these thirty years. I have accordingly satirized myself in two stanzas But, male for female is a trope,
Or rather bold misnomer,
When he translated Homer.
SUBJOINED TO THE YEARLY BILL OF MORTALITY OF THE PARISH OF ALL-SAINTS, NORTHAMPTON",
ANNO DOMINI 1787.
Pallida Mors æquo pulsat pede pauperum tabernas,
While thirteen moons saw smoothly run
The Nen's barge-laden wave,
Was man (frail always) made more frail
Than in foregoing years ?
That so much death appears ?
which I composed last night, while I lay awake, tormented with pain, and well dosed with laudanum. If you find them not very brilliant, therefore, you will know how to account for it.Letter to Joseph Hill, April 15, 1792.
Composed for John Cox, parish clerk of Northampton.