But tears and tearful words, and sighs as deep
As sorrow is—these were his epitaphs!
Thus—(fitly graced)—he lieth now, inurned
In hearts that loved him, on whose tender sides
Are graved his many virtues. When they perish,
He’s lost!—and so’t should be. The poet’s name.
And hero’s—on the brazen book of Time,
Are writ in sunbeams, by Fame’s loving hand;
But none record the household virtues there.
These better sleep (when all dear friends are fled)