Thus unlamented pass the proud away,
The gaze of fools, and pageant of a day!
So perish all, whose breast ne’er learned to glow 45
For others’ good, or melt at others’ woe.
What can atone (O ever injured shade!)
Thy fate unpitied, and thy rites unpaid?
No friend’s complaint, no kind domestic tear,
Pleased thy pale ghost, or graced thy mournful bier: 50
By foreign hands thy dying eyes were closed,
By foreign hands thy decent limbs composed,