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Haply fome hoary-headed Swain may say,

• Oft have we seen him at the peep of dawn

Brushing with hafty steps the dews away

To meet the fun upon the upland lawn.

There at the foot of yonder nodding beech
• That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high,
His liftless length at noontide would he stretch,
And pore upon the brook that babbles by.

Hard by yon wood, now fmiling as in scorn, • Mutt'ring his wayward fancies he would rove, Now drooping, woeful wan, like one forlorn, 'Or craz'd with care, or crofs'd in hopeless love.

One

One morn I miss'd him on the custom'd hill,

6 Along the heath and near his favʼrite tree ;

Another came; nor yet befide the rill,

• Nor up the lawn, nor at the wood was he;

• The next with dirges due in fad array

'Slow thro' the church-way path we saw him born.

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Approach and read (for thou can'st read) the lay,

• Grav'd on the ftone beneath yon aged thorn.

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THE EPITAPH.
ЕРІТАРН,

Large was his bounty, and his foul fincere,

Heav'n did a recompençe as largely fend:

He gave to Mis'ry all he had, a tear,

He gain'd from Heav'n ('twas all he wish'd) a friend.

No farther feek his merits to difclofe,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode,

(There they alike in trembling hope reposé,)

The bofom of his Father and his God.

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Petrarch. Son. 114.

THE

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