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To a FRIEND
Who had declared his intention of writing no more Poetry.
Dear CHARLES! while yet thou wert a babe, I ween
And promis'd for thee, that thou should'st renounce
Stedfast and rooted in the heavenly Muse,
And wash'd and sanctified to POESY.
Yes-thou wert plunged, but with forgetful hand
To weave unwithering flowers! But take thou heed:
And I have arrows
Such as may stop thy speed. Is thy BURNS dead
And shall he die unwept and sink to earth
Ghost of Mæcenas! hide thy blushing face!
They snatch'd him from the sickle and the ploughTo gauge ale-firkins!
O for shame return!
On a bleak rock, midway the Aonian mount,
* Vide Pind. Olymp. 2. 1. 156.
+ Verbatim from Burn's Dedication of his Poem to the Nobility and Gentry of the Caledonian Hunt.
Then in the outskirts, where pollutions grow,
The illustrious Brow of SCOTCH NOBILITY!
The KING of the CROCODILES.
The people at Isna, in Upper Egypt, have a superstition concerning Crocodiles similar to that entertained in the West Indies; they say there is a King of them who resides near Isna, and who has ears, but no tail; and he possesses an uncommon regal quality, that of doing no harm. Some are bold enough to assert that they have seen him.
Mr. Browne had probably forgotten one of our legal axioms, or he would not have conceived that the privilege of doing no wrong, was peculiar to this long-ear'd sovereign.
Now Woman why without your veil ?
Oh! I have lost my darling boy
And sorrow hath made my very heart pale.
Oh I have lost my darling child,
He did not venture in to swim,
He only stoop'd to drink at the brim,
Now take me in your boat I pray
For down the river lies my way,
For I will go to the Crocodile King.
The King of the Crocodiles never does wrong,
He has no tail to strike and slay,
And to the King I will complain