Classic Poem

Here lies the once facetious Harry,
Who'd not have gone, but could not tarry;
For he enjoy'd , was fond of life,
Of every creature, save his wife;
But fat and pursey lost his breath,
And was out run by nimble Death;
That monster grim , who in his round
Puts who he pleases under ground .
O how the scroundrel had been bit,
If there had been a bar to wit ;
What signify or parts or merit,
If common fate they must inherit,
And the world lose so choice a spirit?
What pity 'tis that men of humour
Must fall by dropsy's swelling tumor;
Must know each paultry disease,
And they must die who're born to please .
But even parsons who exbort all ,
B — — ps themselves are not immortal:
If so friend Hal had still been here ,
To crack his jokes and drink his beer .

What, if I had it, would I give,
That men of Harry 's parts could live;
And saucy Death had no controul
Over a man we call a Soul ,
But he is join'd to brittle clay ,
And death's dark night succeeds his day.
O let him in your mem'ry keep,
For such a one 'tis great to weep.
Leave then, my friends, an honest tear,
And shew regard to merit here;
Be glad that Providence is wise,
And sees not with our human eyes,
But has eternal recompence
For men of Harry 's worth and sense.
To no one he had ill intent,
And all his wit was innocent ;
His study was to entertain ,
And our misfortune is his gain .