But still for living wit the wreaths may bloom,
That only waste their odours o’er the tomb.
Such Drury claim’d and claims—nor you refuse
One tribute to revive his slumbering muse;
With garlands deck your own Menander’s head![101]
Nor hoard your honours idly for the dead!
Dear are the days which made our annals bright,
Ere Garrick fled, or Brinsley ceased to write.
Heirs to their labours, like all high-born heirs,
Vain of our ancestry as they of theirs;