Poor Ass! thy Master should have learnt to shew For much I fear me that He lives like thee, How askingly its footsteps hither bend? It seems to say, " And have I then one Friend?" Where ToIL shall call the charmer HEALTH his Bride, Yea! and more musically sweet to me Thy dissonant harsh Bray of Joy would be, The aching of pale FASHION's vacant breast! DOMESTIC PEACE. TELL me, on what holy ground THE SIGH. WHEN Youth his faery reign began Ere Sorrow had proclaimed me man; While Peace the present hour beguiled, And all the lovely Prospect smiled; Then MARY! 'mid my lightsome glee I heav'd the painless SIGH for thee. And when, along the waves of woe, But soon Reflection's power imprest Yet heaved a languid SIGH for thee! And though in distant climes to roam, June, 1794. EPITAPH ON AN INFANT. ERE Sin could blight or Sorrow fade, LINES WRITTEN AT THE KING'S-ARMS, ROSS, FORMERLY THE HOUSE OF THE "MAN OF ROSS." RICHER than MISER o'er his countless hoards, Friend to the friendless, to the sick man health, |