AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN TOWN. John Dyer Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
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Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T116245 1122 K093079.001 Pearch, G. A collection of poems in four volumes. By several hands. Vol. I. [The second edition]. London printed for G. Pearch 1770 pp. 153-154. 4v. ; 8⁰.

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AN EPISTLE TO A FRIEND IN TOWN . BY MR. DYER . HAVE my friends in the town , in the gay busy town , Forgot such a man as John Dyer ? Or heedless despise they , or pity the clown Whose bosom no pageantries fire ? No matter , no matter — content in the shades — ( Contented ? — why , every thing charms me ) Fall in tunes all adown the green steep , ye cascades , Till hence rigid virtue alarms me . Till outrage arises , or misery needs The swift , the intrepid avenger ; Till sacred religion , or liberty bleeds , Then mine be the deed , and the danger . Alas ! what a folly , that wealth and domain We heap up in sin and in sorrow ! Immense is the toil , yet the labour how vain ! Is not life to be over to-morrow ? Then glide on my moments , the few that I have , Smooth-shaded , and quiet and even ; While gently the body descends to the grave , And the spirit arises to heaven .