Epitaph on a Tomb-Stone in St. George's Church-yard, finely embellished for a Child of a Month Old
You may wonder, perhaps, that for one of iny age ,
Who liv'd but a month on life's troublesome stage,
That a stone thus adorn'd at my grave should be plac'd,
And a handful of dust with such trophies begrac'd.
Some think it was folly, some pride in my Dad ,
Even grandfather B — l avers he was mad:
But he judg'd the thing right, and resolv'd it should be;
For a child tho' so young so much wiser than he,
Who ne'er broke the peace of the church or the state,
Had no tongue for abuse, nor a fist for debate,
Then stop as ye pass and just take a view,
In his cradle here laid, of little Sir Hugh ;
And whilst innocence takes its long fatal sleep,
Though you laugh at my father, for me you must weep.
Who liv'd but a month on life's troublesome stage,
That a stone thus adorn'd at my grave should be plac'd,
And a handful of dust with such trophies begrac'd.
Some think it was folly, some pride in my Dad ,
Even grandfather B — l avers he was mad:
But he judg'd the thing right, and resolv'd it should be;
For a child tho' so young so much wiser than he,
Who ne'er broke the peace of the church or the state,
Had no tongue for abuse, nor a fist for debate,
Then stop as ye pass and just take a view,
In his cradle here laid, of little Sir Hugh ;
And whilst innocence takes its long fatal sleep,
Though you laugh at my father, for me you must weep.
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