Who trample order; and the day,
Which God asserts his own,

Dishonour with unhallow'd play,
And worship chance alone?

If scorn of God's commands, impress'd

On word and deed, imply

The better part of man unbless'd

With life that cannot die;

Such want it, and that want, uncur'd
Till man resigns his breath,
Speaks him a criminal, assur'd
Of everlasting death.

Sad period to a pleasant course!

Yet so will God repay

Sabbaths profan'd without remorse,

And mercy cast away.

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INSCRIPTION

FOR THE TOMB OF

MR. HAMILTON.

PAUSE here, and think: a monitory rhime
Demands one moment of thy fleeting time.

Consult life's silent clock, thy bounding vein; Seems it to say--"Health here has long to reign?" Hast thou the vigour of thy youth? an eye That beams delight? a heart untaught to sigh?

Yet fear. Youth ofttimes, healthful and at ease,

Anticipates a day it never sees;

And many a tomb, like HAMILTON's, aloud

Exclaims, "Prepare thee for an early shroud." 10

EPITAPH ON A HARE.

HERE lies, whom hound did ne'er pursue, Nor swifter greyhound follow,

Whose foot ne'er tainted morning dew,

Nor ear heard huntsman's halloo,

Old Tiney, surliest of his kind,

Who, nurs'd with tender care,

And to domestic bounds confin'd,
Was still a wild Jack-hare.

Though duly from my hand he took

His pittance ev'ry night,

He did it with a jealous look,

And, when he could, would bite.

10

His diet was of wheaten bread,

And milk, and oats, and straw;

Thistles, or lettuces instead,

With sand to scour his maw.

On twigs of hawthorn he regal'd,
On pippins' russet peel,
And, when his juicy salads fail'd,

Slic'd carrot pleas'd him well.

A Turkey carpet was his lawn,
Whereon he lov'd to bound,

To skip and gambol like a fawn,
And swing his rump around.

His frisking was at ev'ning hours,

For then he lost his fear,

But most before approaching show'rs,

Or when a storm drew near.

20

Eight years and five round-rolling moons

He thus saw steal away,

Dozing out all his idle noons,

And ev'ry night at play.

I kept him for his humour's sake,

For he would oft beguile

My heart of thoughts, that made it ache,

And force me to a smile.

But now beneath his walnut shade

He finds his long last home,

And waits in snug concealment laid,

Till gentler Puss shall come.

He still more aged feels the shocks,

From which no care can save,

And, partner once of Tiney's box,

Must soon partake his grave.

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