Unhappy Muse! employ'd so oft
On melancholy thoughts of Death,
What hast thou left so tender, and so soft
As thy poor master fain would breath
O'er this lamented hearse?
No usual flight of fancy can become
My sorrows o'er a brother's tomb.
O that I could be elegant in tears,
That with conceptions, not unworthy thee,
10Great as thy merit, vigorous as thy years,