48 CUNNINGHAM. He testified his grateful sense of the benevolence of his friend Slack, who so liberally supplied his wants, and softened the rigour of his last illness, in the following lines addressed to a particular acquaintance, which strongly indicates the impression of his mind on the melancholy occasion. The Drama and I have shook hands, We’ve parted no more to engage, Submissive I meet her commands, For nothing can cure me of age. My sunshine of youth is no more; My mornings of pleasure are fled; "Tis painful my fate to endure, A pension supplies me with bread. Dependent at length on the man, Whose fortune I struggled to raise, I conquer my pride as I can, His charity merits my praise. His bounty proceeds from his heart, 'Tis principle prompts the supply, His friendship exceeds my desert, And often suppresses a sigh. He expired at Newcastle, on the 18th of September, 1773, aged forty-four, and was buried in St. John's church yard, when, to perpetuate his memory, Mr. Slack, whose friendly offices extended beyond the limits of mortality, caused a tombstone to be erected with the following in scription:— Here lie the remains of John CUNNINGHAM ; of his excellence as a Pastoral Poet his works will remain a monument for ages, after this temporary tribute to esteem is in dust forgotten. He died at Newcastle, September 18, 1773, Aged 44. The following anecdote is related of Cunningham, which gave birth to a humorous impromptu, `
