1

In respect for the love and affection he'd

fhow'd her,

She reduc'd him to dust, and she drank up the Powder.

But Queen N****

complexion,

** of a diff'rent

When call'd on to order the fun'ral direction,
Would have eat her dead lord, on a slender

pretence,

Not to show her respect, but to save the ex

pence.

EPITAPH S.

ON A CELEBRATED RULING ELDER.

Here Sowter **** in Death does fleep;
To H-11, if he's gane thither,
Satan, gie him thy gear to keep,

He'll haud it weel thegither.

ON A NOISY POLEMIC.

Below thir ftanes lie Jamie's banes;
O Death, it's my opinion,

Thou ne'er took fuch a bleth'ran b-tch,

Into thy dark dominion!

ON WEE JOHNIE.

Hic jacet wee Jobnie.

Whoe'er thou art, O reader, know,
That Death has murder'd Johnie ;

An' here his body lies fu' low

For faul he ne'er had ony.

FOR THE AUTHOR'S FATHER.

O ye

whose cheek the tear of pity stains,

Draw near with pious rev'rence and attend!

Here lie the loving Husband's dear remains,

The tender Father, and the gen'rous Friend.

The pitying Heart that felt for human Woe; The dauntless heart that fear'd no human

Pride;

The Friend of Man, to vice alone a foe;

For ev'n his failings lean'd to Virtue's fide. *'

Know thou, O stranger to the fame
Of this much lov'd, much honor'd name!
(For none that knew him need be told)
A warmer heart Death ne'er made cold.

The

FOR G. H. Efq;

poor man weeps—here GN fleeps, Whom canting wretches blam'd:

But with fuch as he, where'er he be,

May I be fav'd or d—'d!

F f

* Goldsmith.

A BARD'S EPITAP H.

I

S there a whim-inspir'd fool,

Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate to feek, owre proud to snool,

Let him draw near;

And o'er this graffy heap fing dool,

And drap a tear.

Is there a Bard of ruftic fong,

Who, notelefs, fteals the crouds among,

That weekly this area throng,

O, pass not by !

But with a frater-feeling strong,

Here, heave a figh.

Is there a man whofe judgment clear, Can others teach the course to steer,

Yet runs, himself, life's mad career,

Wild as the wave,

1

Here paufe-and thro' the starting tear,

Survey this grave.

The poor Inhabitant below

Was quick to learn and wise to know,
And keenly felt the friendly glow,

And fofter flame;

But thoughtless follies laid him low,

And ftain'd his name!

Reader attend-whether thy foul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole,

In low pursuit,

Know, prudent, cautious, felf-controul

Is Wisdom's root.

FINIS.