’Twas ten o’clock, and he had never been!
“The next, with coaches two, in sad array,
Slow to the ‘Rushholme Ground,’ I saw him borne;
Go there, and read the plain, but honest lay,
Grav’d on the stone above this wight forlorn.”
Epitaph.
Here rests his head upon the lap of earth,
A youth respected, and in town well known;
But fortune smil’d not on his humble birth,
Though many merchants sought him for their own.