MARTIN CHARLES BURNEY, ESC
FORGIVE me, BURNEY, if to thee these late
And hasty products of a critic peni,
Thyself no common judge of books and men,
In feeling of thy worth I dedicate.
My verse was offer'd to an older friend;
The humbler prose has fallen to thy share:
Nor could I miss the occasion to declare,
What, spoken in thy presence, must offend
That, set aside some few caprices wild,
Those humorous clouds that fit o'er brightest days,
In all my threadings of this worldly maze,
(And I have watch'd thee alınost from a child,)
Fres from self-seeking, envy, low design,
I have not found a whiter soul than thine.