Classic Poem

Perhaps you may wonder that little Sir Hugh ,
Who so long ago bid his final adieu,
Who was here sent to bed to take his last sleep ,
At the world should again be permitted to peep .
The door of this sepulchre wherein I was put,
I thought, till the great resurrection, was shut ;
But it now has been open'd to let in PAPA ,
Who here lies at rest from all STRIFE and FRACAS ;
Eternally free from the ruffles of life,
From the sneers of the world, and disputes with his wife;
But stop parent's faults no children should see,
They were both very good, very tender of me .

I am moulder'd to dust, and of moisture bereft,
Some tears would be shed for poor sister that's left
Depriv'd of paternal affection and care,
For with that of a father no love can compare;
He had failings 'tis true, yet his virtues he had,
And there was not an honester man than my DAD .
He might rattle , or as the world terms it, romance ,
But he minded the thing which you call the main chance ;
In trade he was clever , and kept out of debt,
Out of trouble from dunns, or the London Gazette:
To this prison 'twas death that pull'd him away,
This alone was the debt which papa had to pay;
And this is a debt must be paid by you ALL ,
For this bill of Exchange there may soon be a call.
To the faults of the dead then be never severe,
But think on your own whene're you come here ,
And let all his errors , if errors there be,
As well as himself , be bury'd with me .