Upright in all the social calls of life,
The friend, the daughter, sister, and the wife!
So just the disposition of her soul,
Nature left reason nothing to control:
Firm, pious, patient, affable of mind,
Happy in life, and yet in death resign'd!
Just in the zenith of those golden days,
When the mind ripens ere the form decays,
The hand of fate for ever cut her thread,
And left the world to weep that virtue fled,
Its pride when living, and its grief when dead!
Come, honest sexton, take thy spade,
And let my grave be quickly made :
Thou still art ready for the dead,
Like a kind host, to make my bed.
I now am come to be thy guest,
Let me in some dark lodging rest,
For I am weary, full of pain,
And of my pilgrimage complain.
On heaven's decree I waiting lie,
And all my wishes are to die.
Hark, I hear my passing-bell,
Farewell, my loving friends, farewell!
Make my cold bed, good sexton, deep,
That my poor bones may safely sleep;
Until that sad and joyful day,
When from above a voice shall say,
"Wake, all ye dead, lift up your eyes,
"The great creator bids you rise."
Then do I hope, among the just,
To shake off this polluted dust;
And, with new robes of glory drest,
To have access among the blest.
Hark, I hear my passing-bell,
Farewell, my loving friends, farewell!
J. Raw, Printer, Ipswich.
Epitaph on Hogarth
SEC P. 68,
Farewell, great Printer of Mankind
The reachd the noblest point of art:
Whose pictored moralschwoim the mont
AAA sought he yo corret the heart.
Agenius rothee (Roader stars.
Shiti ctouch thee, dropatear.
wwwither wellice, turn away
For Hogarth's honourd dust lies here:
Inchinack Snyard
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