BALLAD. (Blest Friendship hail! thy gifts possessing)

Blest Friendship hail! thy gifts possessing. That happy mortal's rich indeed: Thou willing giv'st each earthly blessing To all but those who stand in need:

Thy words are sweet as Hybla's honey, In accents kind, and mild, and civil, Flows thy advice:—thou giv'st not money, For money is the very devil;

And rather than the foul temptation Should into scrapes thy friend betray, Disint'rested consideration, Thou kindly tak'st it all away.

Are his affairs at rack and manger, Lest a bad world thy friend should chouse, No time for thee to play the stranger, Thou deign'st to manage all his house;

To make him thy good pleasure tarry, To kiss thy feet, to leap o'er sticks, To run, to hop, to fetch, to carry, And play a thousand monkey tricks.

Nay, if thy liquorish chops should water, To ease him of domestic strife, Thou rid'st him of a flirting daughter, Or, kinder still, thou steal'st his wife.

Come then, my friend, prevent my pleasure, And out of doors politeness kick, With me and mine pray keep no measure, Drench me with bumpers, make me sick,

My cellar bleed, devour my mutton, Upon my vitals dine and sup; Come on thou kind, thou friendly glutton, Kill, barbecue, and eat me up.

Then, to the last a friend, desert me, That, wise by dear experience grown, And having no kind friend to hurt me, I may at last become my own.