On Mr. Rowe

In Westminster Abbey

THY reliques, ROWE! to this sad shrine we trust,

And near thy Shakspeare place thy honour’d bust,

Oh, next him, skill’d to draw the tender tear—

For never heart felt passion more sincere—

To nobler sentiment to fire the brave—

For never Briton more disdain’d a slave!

Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest;

Blest in thy Genius, in thy Love too blest!

And blest, that timely from our scene remov’d,

Thy soul enjoys the Liberty it lov’d.

To these, so mourn’d in death, so lov’d in life,

The childless parent and the widow’d wife

With tears inscribes this monumental stone,

That holds their ashes and expects her own.