But see! the master-mourner makes his way,
To end his office for the coffin'd clay;
Pleased that our rustic men and maids behold
His plate like silver, and his studs like gold,
As they approach to spell the age, the name,
And all the titles of th' illustrious dame.—
300
This as (my duty done) some scholar read,
A village-father look'd disdain and said:
"Away, my friends! why take such pains to know