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152 EPISTLE TO JOSEPH HILL, ESQ. And fetch my cloak; for, though the night be raw,' I'll see him too-the first I ever saw.
I knew the man, and knew his nature mild,
And was his plaything often when a child ;
But somewhat at that moment pinch'd him close,
Else he was seldom bitter or morose.
Perhaps his confidence just then betray'd,
His grief might prompt him with the speech he made
Perhaps 'twas mere good humour gave it birth,
The harmless play of pleasantry and mirth.
Howe'er it was, his language, in my mind,
Bespoke at least a man that knew mankind.
But not to moralize too much, and strain,
To prove an evil, of which all complain,
(I hate long arguments verbosely spun,)
One story more, dear Hill, and I have done.
Once on a time, an emp'ror, a wise man,
No matter where, in China or Japan,
Decreed, that whosoever should offend
Against the well-known duties of a friend,
Convicted once, should ever after wear
But half a coat, and show his bosom bare.
The punishment importing this, no doubt,
That all was naught within, and all found out
O happy Britain! we have not to fear
Such hard and arbitrary measure here ;
Else, could a law like that which I relate,
Once have the sanction of our triple state,
Some few, that I have known in days of old,
Would run most dreadful risk of catching cold ;
While you, my friend, whatever wind should blow
Might traverse England safely to and fro,
An honest man, close button'd to the chin,
Broadcloth without, and a warm heart within.
Κεφαλαιον δη παιδειας ορθη τροφη.........PLATο.
Αρχη πολιτειας απασης νεων τροφα......DIOG. LAERT.
REV. WILLIAM CAWTHORNE UNWIN,
RECTOR OF STOCK IN ESSEX,
THE TUTOR OF HIS TWO SONG,
RECOMMENDING PRIVATE TUITION, IN PREFERENCE
TO AN EDUCATION AT SCHOOL,
BY HIS AFFECTIONATE FRIEND,
IT is not from his form, in which we trace
Strength join'd with beauty, dignity with grace,
That man, the master of this globe, derives
His right of empire over all that lives.
That form, indeed, th' associate of a mind
Vast in its pow'rs, ethereal in its kind
That form, the labour of almighty skill,
Fram'd for the service of a freeborn will,
Asserts precedence, and bespeaks control,
But borrows all its grandeur from the soul.
Here is the state, the splendour, and the throne,
An intellectual kingdom, all her own.
For her the Mem'ry fills her ample page
With truths pour'd down from ev'ry distant age;
For her amasses an unbounded store,
The wisdom of great nations, now no more ;
Though laden, not encumber'd with her spoil ;
Laborious, yet unconscious of her toil;
When copiously supplied, then most enlarg'd,
Still to be fed, and not to be surcharg'd.
For her the Fancy, roving unconfin'd,
The present muse of ev'ry pensive mind,
Works magick wonders, adds a brighter hue
To Nature's scenes than Nature ever knew.
At her command winds rise, and waters roar,
Again she lays them slumbering on the shore ;
With flow'r and fruit the wilderness supplies,
Or bids the rocks in ruder pomp arise.
For her the Judgment, umpire in the strife,
That Grace and Nature have to wage through life, 30
Quick-sighted arbiter of good and ill,
Appointed sage preceptor to the will,
Condemns, approves, and with a faithful voice
Guides the decision of a doubtful choice.
Why did the fiat of a God give birth
To yon fair Sun, and his attendant Earth?
And when, descending, he resigns the skies,
Why takes the gentler Moon her turn to rise,
Whom Ocean feels through all his countless waves,
And owns her pow'r on ev'ry shore he laves ? 40
Why do the seasons still enrich the year,
Fruitful and young as in their first career?
Spring hangs her infant blossoms on the trees,
Rock'd in the cradle of the western breeze ;
Summer in haste the thriving charge receives 45
Beneath the shade of her expanded leaves,
Till Autumn's fiercer heats and plenteous dews
Die them at last in all their glowing hues-
"Twere wild profusion all, and bootless waste,
Pow'r misemployed, munificence misplac'd, 50
Had not its author dignified the plan,
And crown'd it with the majesty of man.
Thus form’d, thus plac'd, intelligent, and taught,
Look where he will, the wonders God has wrought,
The wildest scorner of his Maker's laws
55 Finds in a sober moment time to pause. To press th' important question on his heart, * Why form'd at all, and wherefore as thou art ?* If man be what he seems, this hour a slave, The next mere dust and ashes in the grave ; 60 Endu'd with reason only to descry His crimes and follies with an aching eye; With passions, just that he may prove, with pain, The force he spends against their fury vain ;