Changed to two followers, terrible to see,
Who dog his walks, and whisper "That is he!"

Rhymesters attend! nor scorn & friendly hint,
Restrain your _cacoëths_ fierce to print.
But hark, _my_ printer's devil's at the door,
My leisure cannot yield one moment more:
Nor matters it, advice can ne'er restrain
Madman or poet from his bent:--'tis vain
To strive to point out colours to the blind,
Or set men seeking what they _will not find_.



MATURE REFLECTIONS.

O Love! divinest dream of youth,
Thy day of ecstacy is o'er,
My bosom, touch'd by time and truth,
Thrills at thy dear deceits no more.

Nor thou, Ambition! e'er again,
With splendour dazzling to betray,
And aspirations fierce and vain,
Shall tempt my steps--away! away!

Alas! by stern Experience cleft,
When life's romance is turn'd to sport;
If man hath consolation left
On this side death--'tis good old port.