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In vain the talkative unite

With hope of permanent delight;
The secret just committed
They drop through mere desire to prate,
Forgetting its important weight,
And by themselves outwitted.

How bright soe'er the prospect seems,

All thoughts of friendship are but dreams,
If envy chance to creep in;
An envious man, if you succeed,
May prove a dangerous foe indeed,

But not a friend worth keeping.

As envy pines at good possess'd,
So jealousy looks forth distress'd,

On good that seems approaching,
And if success his steps attend,
Discerns a rival in a friend,

And hates him for encroaching. Hence authors of illustrious name, (Unless belied by common fame,)

Are sadly prone to quarrel;
To deem the wit a friend displays
So much of loss to their own praise,
And pluck each other's laurel.
A man renowned for repartee
Will seldom scruple to make free

With friendship's finest feeling;
Will thrust a dagger at your breast,
And tell you 'twas a special jest,
By way of balm for healing.

Beware of tattlers; keep your ear

Close stopt against the tales they hear,-
Fruits of their own invention;
The separation of chief friends

Is what their kindness most intends;
Their sport is your dissension,

Friendship that wantonly admits
A joco-serious play of wits

In brilliant altercation,
Is union such as indicates,
Like hand-in-hand insurance plates,
Danger of conflagration.

Some fickle creatures boast a soul
True as the needle to the pole;

Yet shifting, like the weather,
The needle's constancy forego
For any novelty, and show
Its variations rather.

Insensibility makes some
Unseasonably deaf and dumb,


When most need their pity;
'Tis waiting till the tears shall fall
From Gog and Magog in Guildhall,—
Those playthings of the city.

The great and small but rarely meet
On terms of amity complete:

The attempt would scarce be madder, Should any, from the bottom, hope At one huge stride to reach the top Of an erected ladder.

Courtier and patriot cannot mix
Their heterogeneous politics

Without an effervescence,
Such as of salts with lemon-juice,
But which is rarely known to induce,
Like that, a coalescence.

Religion should extinguish strife,

And make a calm of human life:
But even those who differ

Only on topics left at large,
How fiercely will they meet and charge!
No combatants are stiffer.

To prove, alas! my main intent,
Needs no great cost of argument,

No cutting and contriving;
Seeking a real friend, we seem
To adopt the chymist's golden dream
With still less hope of thriving.
Then judge, or ere you choose
As circumspectly as you can,

And, having made election,
See that no disrespect of yours,
Such as a friend but ill endures,

Enfeeble his affection.

your man,

It is not timber, lead and stone,
An architect requires alone,

To finish a great building;
The palace were but half complete,
Could he by any chance forget

The carving and the gilding.

As similarity of mind,

Or something not be defined,
First rivets our attention;
So, manners, decent and polite,
The same we practised at first sight,
Must save it from declension.

The man who hails you Tom or Jack,
And proves by thumping on your back,
His sense of your great merit,

Is such a friend, that one had need
Be very much his friend indeed,
To pardon, or to bear it.

Some friends make this their prudent plan"Say little, and hear all you can;"

Safe policy, but hateful;

So barren sands imbibe the shower,
But render neither fruit nor flower,

Unpleasant and ungrateful.

They whisper trivial things, and small;
But, to communicate at all

Things serious, deem improper;
Their feculence and froth they show,
But keep the best contents below,
Just like a simmering copper.

These samples (for alas! at last
These are but samples, and a taste

Of evils yet unmention'd;)
May prove the task, a task indeed,
In which 'tis much, if we succeed,
However well-intention'd.

Pursue the theme, and you shall find
A disciplined and furnish'd mind
To be at least expedient,
And, after summing all the rest,
Religion ruling in the breast
A principal ingredient.

True friendship has, in short, a grace
More than terrestrial in its face,

That proves it Heaven-descended;
Man's love of woman not so pure,
Nor, when sincerest, so secure
To last till life is ended.




A STRANGER'S purpose in these lays
Is to congratulate and not to praise ;
To give the creature the Creator's due
Were sin in me, and an offence to you.
From man to man, or e'en to woman paid,
Praise is the medium of a knavish trade,
A coin by Craft for Folly's use design'd,
Spurious, and only current with the blind.

The path of sorrow, and that path alone
Leads to the land where sorrow is unknown:
No traveller ever reach'd that bless'd abode,
Who found not thorns and briers in his road.

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