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Whom flow'rs alone I knew would little please,
eye is on the heart; Whose frown can disappoint the proudest strain, Whose approbation-profper even mine,
E P I S T L E
Jose PH HILL, Eses
DEAR JOSEPH — five and twenty years ago.
And, were I call’d to prove th' assertion true,
Whence comes it then, that in the wane of life, Though nothing have occurr'd to kindle strife, We find the friends we fancied we had won, Though num'rous once, reduc'd to few or none ? Can gold grow worthless that has stood the touch ? No: Gold they seem'd, but they were never such.
Horatio's servant once, with bow and cringe, Swinging the parlour-door upon its hinge, Dreading a negative, and overaw'd Left he should trespass, begg'd to go abroad. Go, fellow! - whither ? — turning short about Nay. Stay at home; - you're always going out. 'Tis but a step, sir, just at the street's end For what ? --- An please you, fir, to see a friend. A friend ! Horatio cried, and seem'd to startYea
marry shalt thou, and with all my heart
And fetch my cloak, for though the night be raw
I knew the man, and knew his nature mild, And was his play-thing 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