Should you be distant far as Afric’s sand,
By Fancy pictured, you’d be near at hand.
This shall console my thoughts till time shall end:
Though George be absent, George is still my friend.
But other friends I leave; it wounds my heart
To leave a Gilman, Conkey and a Clark;
But hope through the sad thought my soul shall bear:
Bereft of hope I’d sink in dark despair.
When Phœbus a few courses shall have run,
And e’er old Aries shall receive the sun,