Death it self can blot out an_ Idea _so firmly imprinted. The Soul, when
it leaves this earthly Habitation, and has no more Use for those
Vertues, which were serviceable in the Conduct of human Life, such as_
Temperance, Fortitude _and the like, will certainly carry_ Love _and_
Gratitude _along with it to Heaven. This may suffice to let the World
know what Obligations you have laid upon me.

By this Letter (the room of which, for your sake I could willingly have
supply'd) you will plainly see, that no Place, however remote, is able
to secure you from the Zeal of a_ Friend, _and the Vanity of a_ Poet.


For tho' retiring to the _Western Isles_,
At the long Distance of five thousand Miles,
You've chang'd _dear London_ for your Native Seat,
And think _Barbadoes_ is a safe Retreat;
You highly err: Nor is the _Wat'ry Fence_
Sufficient Guard against Impertinence.
The _Muse_, which smiles on jingling Bards, like Me,
Has always Winds to waft her o'er the Sea.
Blow on, ye Winds, and o'er th' _Atlantick Main_,
Bear to my Gen'rous Friend this thankful Strain.

_You see, Sir, I have not left off that rhyming Trick of Youth; but
knowing You to be a Gentleman who loves Variety in every thing, I
thought it would not be ungrateful if I checquer'd my Prose with a
little Verse._

_After this Preamble, it is presum'd, that one who lives on the Other
side of the Globe, will expect by every Pacquet-boat to know what is