s sound,
To call us to our God with Angels round.
There shall we tottering hear the just decree,
Of him alone, who can all spirits free:
How oft we find when sickness brings distress,
We wish our sufferings and our crimes were less;
It is our crimes that most our anguish brings,
And paint grim death, with all his bitter stings,
Then erring man if happiness you crave,
Repent and sin no more this side the grave.

ON THE DEATH
OF
MR. CHARLES SAVORY.

When fortune smil'd, his friendly care
Was to relieve distress;
And ease the wretched in dispair,
Or make their troubles less.
When to him misfortune stray'd,
No brothers gave relief;
To assist the man each seem'd afraid,
Or ease the brow of grief.
A trifling pittance neighbours say,
The elder B---r sent;
Not half enough in life's decay,
To pay his nurse and rent.
From his misfortunes well its known,
Their anger did increase;
He wish'd his friend would make it known,
He died with all at peace.
Within the church beside his wife,
My friend's remains are laid;
Remov'd from all the pangs of life,
Or B---s to upbraid.
Benevolence came forth with speed,
While pity went before;
Holding J. Barber's hand to aid,
The man that's now no more.
Oh Barber! such a heart as thine,
Are seldom found in man;
Thy generous deeds to endless time,
Will prove sweet comforts plan.
What proof thou gives of friendly care,
To take his orphan girl;
And dry the child's fresh starting tear,
And from her grief to hurl.
Oh daughter of my late lov'd friend,
Religious guide pursue;
Till your last moments here do end,
Or tomb encompass you.

EPITAPH TO THE ABOVE.

Faithful in friendship kind to all,
The needy poor around;
And those who gave a friendly call,
A hearty welcome found.

Deceit ne'er harbour'd in his breast,
Or flattery in his mind;
From troubles here he surely rest,
And hope forgiveness find.

THE
INJURED TO THE INJURER.

You vilest of the human race,
A traitorous fiend with double face;
A fawning sycophant from youth,
Who never spoke a word of truth:
Who shed thy tears like crocodile;
Apparent virtue prov'd all vile:
You ask'd for cash the other day;
And for your coach hire home to pay.
Poor