"Stop, passenger! my story's brief, And truth I shall relate, man; I tell naecommon tale o' grief, For Matthew was a great man. If thou uncommon merit hast, Yet spurn'd at Fortune's door, man; A look of pity hither cast, For Matthew was a poor man. If thou a noble sodgerart, That passest bythis grave, [...]
Sic a reptile was Wat, sica miscreant slave, That the worms ev'n damn'd him when laid in his grave; "In his flesh there's a famine," a starved reptile cries, "And his heart is rank poison!" another replies.
In wood and wild, ye warbling throng, Your heavy loss deplore; Now, half extinct your powers of song, Sweet Echo is nomore. Ye jarring, screeching things around, Scream your discordant joys; Now, half your dinof tuneless sound With Echo silent lies.