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and perplexities of public life. But the extreme modesty and shyness of his nature, which disqualified him for scenes of business and ambition, endeared him inexpressibly to those, who had opportunities to enjoy his society, and faculties to appretiate the uncommon excellence of his interesting character.

Reserved as he was, to an extraordinary and painful degree, his heart and mind were yet admirably fashioned by nature for all the refined intercourse, and confidential delights both of friendship and of love: but tho' apparently formed to possess, and to communicate an extraordinary portion of mortal felicity, the incidents of his life were such, that, conspiring with the peculiarities of his nature, they rendered him, at different times, the most unhappy of mankind. The variety and depth of his sufferings, in early life, from extreme tenderness of heart, are very forcibly displayed in the following verses, which formed part of a letter to one of his female relations at the time they were composed. The letter has perished; and the verses owe their preservation to the affectionate memory of the lady, to whom they were addressed.

Doom'd, as I am, in solitude to waste
The present moments, and regret the past;
Depriv'd of every joy, I valued most,

My Friend torn from me, and my Mistress lost;
Call not this gloom, I wear, this anxious mien,
The dull effect of humour, or of spleen!

And after many a vain essay
To captivate the tempting prey,
Gives him at length the lucky pat,
And has him safe, beneath his hat:
Then lifts it gently from the ground ;
But ah! 'tis lost, as soon as found;
Culprit his liberty regains;

Flits out of sight, and mocks his pains.
The sense was dark; 'twas therefore fit

With simile t'illustrate it;

But as too much obscures the sight,

As often as too little light,

We have our similies cut short,
For matters of more grave import.
That Matthew's numbers run with ease,
Each man of common sense agrees ;
All men of common sense allow,
That Robert's lines are easy too:
Where then the preference shall we place?
Or how do justice in this case?
Matthew (says Fame) with endless pains
Smooth'd, and refin'd, the meanest strains;
Nor suffer'd one ill chosen rhyme
T'escape him, at the idlest time;
And thus o'er all a lustre cast,

That, while the language lives, shall last.
An't please your Ladyship (quoth I)

For 'tis my business to reply;

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fident authors. During his residence in the Temple, he cultivated the friendship of some eminent literary characters, who had been his school-fellows at Westminster, particularly Colman, Bonnel Thornton, and Lloyd. His regard to the two first induced him to contribute to their periodical publication, entitled the Connoisseur, three excellent papers, which the Reader will find in the Appendix to these volumes, and from which he will perceive, that Cowper had such talents for this pleasant and useful species of composition, as might have rendered him a worthy associate, in such labours, to Addison himself, whose graceful powers have never been surpassed in that province of literature, which may still be considered as peculiarly his own.

The intimacy of Cowper and Lloyd may have given rise perhaps to some early productions of our Poet, which it may now be hardly possible to ascertain ;---the probability of this conjecture arises from the necessities of Lloyd, and the affectionate liberality of his friend. As the former was tempted by his narrow finances to engage in periodical works, it is highly probable that the pen of Cowper ever ready to second the charitable wishes of his heart, might be devoted to the service of an indigent Author, whom he appears to have loved with a very cordial affection.—I find that affection agreably displayed in a sportive poetical epistle, which may cm a place in this volume, not only as an early specimen of Carer's poetry, but as exhibiting a sketch of his own mind at the wenty-three.

AN

AN

EPISTLE TO ROBERT LLOYD, ESQR. 1754.

'Tis not that I design to rob

Thee of thy birth-right, gentle Bob,

For thou art born sole heir, and single.
Of dear Mat Prior's easy jingle;
Nor that I mean, while thus I knit
My thread-bare sentiments together,
To shew my genius, or my wit,

When God and you know, I have neither;

Or such, as might be better shewn

By letting Poetry alone.

'Tis not with either of these views,

That I presume to address the Muse ;
But to divert a fierce banditti,

(Sworn foes to every thing that's witty!)
That, with a black, infernal train,
Make cruel inroads in my brain,
And daily threaten to drive thence

My little garrison of sense :
The fierce banditti, which I mean,

Are gloomy thoughts, led on by spleen.

Then there's another reason yet,

Which is, that I may fairly quit

The debt, which justly became due
The moment, when I heard from you:
And you might grumble, crony mine,
If paid in any other coin;

Since twenty sheets of lead, God knows
(I would say twenty sheets of prose)

Can

Can ne'er be deem'd worth half so much
As one of gold, and yours was such.
Thus, the preliminaries settled,.
Ifairly find myself pitch-kettled ;*
And cannot see, tho' few see better,
How I shall hammer out a letter.

First, for a thought-since all agree-
A thought I have it-let me see—
'Tis gone again-Plague on't! I thought
I had it but I have it not.

Dame Gurton thus, and Hodge her son,
That useful thing, her needle, gone;
Rake well the cinders ;---sweep the floor,
And sift the dust behind the door ;
While

eager Hodge beholds the prize
In old Grimalkin's glaring eyes;
And Gammer finds it on her knees
In every shining straw, she sees.
This simile were apt enough;
But I've another critic-proof!
The Virtuoso thus, at noon
Broiling beneath a July sun,

The gilded Butterfly pursues,

O'er hedge and ditch, thro' gaps and mews ;

And

*Pitch-kettled a favorite phrafe at the time when this Epiftle was written, expreffive of being puzzled, or what, in the Spectators' time, would have been. called bamboozled.

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