The blooming Partner of his marriage bed,
Adds Jealous anguish to his wretched care.
For thee, who mindful of thy own mischance,
Dost in these lines an artless tale relate;
Some kindred spirit, or some friend perchance,
In future times may mourn thy hapless fate.
And when with dirges due, in sad array,
Slow thro’ the church-way path thy corpse be borne,
May these few lines compose the parting lay,
Grav’d on a stone beneath an aged thorn.