These Lines to Pope for ever sacred live,
The best a grateful mourning Muse can give.
To him, now number'd with th' immortal Dead,
This Verse unfeign'd with flowing Eyes be read.
O Thou! applauded by the Wise and Great!
Nor Worth, nor Genius could postpone thy Fate.
Too long an Exile from the Worlds of Bliss,
By envying Angels snatch'd too soon from this:
Thy Strains seraphick shall their Anthems raise,
Give Heav'n new Harmony, and God new Praise.