The Epitaph.

No further seek his merits to disclose,

Or draw his frailties from their dread abode

(There they alike in trembling hope repose),

The bosom of his Father and his God.

The Epitaph.

And weep the more, because I weep in vain.

Sonnet. On the Death of Mr. West.

Rich windows that exclude the light,

And passages that lead to nothing.