Classic Poem

To a friend so sincere, to a comrade so gay,
Who brought cares on himself, to drive our cares away,
Who lov'd still to laugh, yet ne'er wish'd to offend,
And, a friend to mankind, found mankind not a friend;
To a spirit so rare let us ever be just,
Nor forget him (poor fellow) though laid in the dust.
Then haste with your myrtles to hang on his shrine;
With odours enrich it, bedew it with wine:
Ne'er cease on his turf early roses to bloom,
And green be the laurel that waves o'er his tomb.