Stay securely in your nest; Caty now, will do her best, All she can, to make you blest; But, you want no human aid-- Nature, when she form'd you, said, "Independent you are made, My dear little Caty-did: Soon yourself must disappear With the verdure of the year,"-- And to go, we know not where, With your song of Caty-did. [191] From the edition of 1815. ON PASSING BY AN OLD CHURCHYARD[192] Pensive, on this green turf I cast my eye, And almost feel inclined to muse and sigh: Such tokens of mortality so nigh. But hold,--who knows if these who soundly sleep, Would not, alive, have made some orphan weep, Or plunged some slumbering victim in the deep. There may be here, who once were virtue's foes, A curse through life, the cause of many woes, Who wrong'd the widow, and disturb'd repose. There may be here, who with malicious aim Did all they could to wound another's fame, Steal character, and filch away good name. Perhaps yond' solitary turf invests Some who, when living, were the social pests, Patrons of ribands, titles, crowns and crests. Can we on such a kindred tear bestow? They, who, in life, were every just man's foe, A plague to all about them!--oh, no, no. What though sepultured with the funeral whine; Why, sorrowing on such tombs should we recline, Where truth, perhaps, has hardly penn'd a line. --Yet, what if here some honest man is laid Whom nature of her best materials made, Who all respect to sacred honor paid. Gentle, humane, benevolent, and just, (Though now forgot and mingled with the dust, There may be such, and such there are we trust.) Yes--for the sake of that one honest man We would on knaves themselves bestow a tear, Think nature form'd them on some crooked plan, And say, peace rest on all that slumber here. [192] From the edition of 1815. STANZAS OCCASIONED BY A MELANCHOLY SURVEY OF AN OLD ENGLISH TOBACCO BOX INSCRIBED 1708[193] Written in a dearth of tobacco, by Hezekiah Salem. Had I but what this box contained Since good Queen Anne in Britain reigned, My happiness would be increased To more, perhaps, than she possessed. This box, in many a pocket worn (And to be used by some unborn) Has been unfilled a week or more, And curses the tobacco store, Which now has had its turn to fail; The door shut up, the man in jail Who late behind the counter stood And vended what was pretty good. ("And are you here?--the turnkey said, "I rather would have seen you dead!"-- --Yes! I am here--the man replied-- And better so than to have died!) This box again, in spite of that, Shall be repackt with--I know what-- Again I'll fill its empty chest With old Virginia's very best. The fragrance of that mild perfume Again shall cheer the reading room, Again delight your men of wit Who have the taste to relish it.