That all the care, the kindness, he had shown,
Were from his Brother’s heart, if not his memory, flown:
All swept away, to be perceived no more,
Like idle structures on the sandy shore,
The chance amusement of the playful boy,
That the rude billows in their rage destroy.
Poor George confess’d, though loth the truth to find,
Slight was his knowledge of a Brother’s mind:
The vulgar pipe was to the wife offence,
The frequent grog to Isaac an expense;