то GEORGE COLMAN, Esq. With happier fancy, passions more refin'd; And all the finer movements of the mind.— Yet shall we, COLMAN, at these gifts repine?- And with those powers of genius would you part? That weakness wrote in Petrarch's gentle strain! Far, far above the groveling crowd to rise!- O right divine, the pride of power to scorn; As yon As far each boon that nature's hand bestows The worthless glare of fortune's train exceeds, fair orb, whose beam eternal glows, Outshines the transient meteor that it feeds. To nature, COLMAN, let thy incense rise, For, much indebted, much hast thou to pay; For taste refin'd, for wit correctly wise, And keen discernment's soul-pervading ray. She thee gave powers, and she the task assign'd, Seize, seize the pen! the sacred hour departs! Nor, led by kindness, longer lend thine ear: The tender tale of two ingenuous hearts Would rob thee of a moment and a tear. LONDON, Nov. 10, 1764. J. LANGHORNE |