JOHN, as he came, so went away, Consuming capital and pay, Holding superfluous riches cheap; The trick of spending time he knew, Dividing it in portions two, For idling one, and one for sleep.
On every nose he rightly read What intellects were in the head And yet that he was not the one By whom God meant it to be done, This on his own he never read.
By painful sickness long severely prest, Here sinks, on Nature's sacred lap of rest, A friend, who, in a life too short, display'd A mind in virtue bright, without one shade....
A poor old soldier shall not lie unknown, Without a verse, and this recording stone. 'Twas his in youth o'er distant lands to stray, Danger and death companions of his way....
Thy prayer was 'Light-more Light-while Time shall last!' Thou rawest a glory growing on the night, But not the shadows which that light would cast, Till shadows vanish in the Light of Light.
Here Johnson lies'a sage by all allow'd, Whom to have bred may well make England proud, Whose prose was eloquence, by wisdom taught, The graceful vehicle of virtuous thought;...
Here lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed, Who long was a bookseller's hack; He led such a damnable life in this world, I don't think he'll wish to come back.
Wouldst thou hear what man can say In a little? Reader, stay. Underneath this stone doth lie As much beauty as could die; Which in life did harbor give To more virture than doth live. ...
Though once a puppy, and though Fop by name, Here moulders one whose bones some honour claim. No sycophant, although of spaniel race, And though no hound, a martyr to the chace'...
Warrior of God, man's friend, and tyrant's foe, Now somewhere dead far in the waste Soudan, Thou livest in all hearts, for all men know This earth has never borne a nobler man.