Another came, who had not seen his face,
In the King’s Bench, or Fleet, or Marshalsea.
Him next, in sad procession borne along,
We saw proceeding through the churchyard’s gloom
Affliction had abridg’d his mournful song,
And wrote this sad inscription on his tomb.”
Epitaph.
Here rests his head, six feet beneath the earth,
An hapless youth, to hunger often known;
The Grub-street Muses frown’d not at his birth,