To the Right Honourable the Earl of Shelburne

Ah! SHELBURNE, blest with all that's good or great
T'adorn a rich, or save a sinking, state--
If public Ills engross not all thy care,
Let private Woe assail a patriot's ear;
Pity confined, but not less warm, impart,
And unresisted win thy noble heart;
Nor deem I rob thy soul of Britain's share,
Because I hope to have some interest there.
Still wilt thou shine on all a fostering sun,
Though with more fav'ring beams enlight'ning one;
As Heaven will oft make some more amply blest,
Yet still in general bounty feeds the rest.
Oh, hear the Virtue thou reverest plead;
She'll swell thy breast, and there applaud the deed.
She bids thy thoughts one hour from greatness stray,
And leads thee on to fame a shorter way;
Where, if no withering laurel's thy reward,
There's shouting Conscience, and a grateful Bard;
A bard untrained in all but misery's school,
Who never bribed a knave or praised a fool.
'Tis Glory prompts, and, as thou read'st, attend;
She dictates pity, and becomes my friend;
She bids each cold and dull reflection flee,
And yields her Shelburne to distress and me!