If such there be, then let your murmurs cease,
Think, think of him, and take your lot in peace.
And such there was:—Oh! grief, that checks our pride!
Weeping we say, there was—for Manners died:
Beloved of Heaven, these humble lines forgive,
That sing of Thee[17], and thus aspire to live.
As the tall oak, whose vigorous branches form
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An ample shade and brave the wildest storm,
High o'er the subject wood is seen to grow,