So good, so blest th' illustrious  we find,
Whose image dwells with pleasure on my mind;
The Mitre's glory, Freedom's constant friend,
In times which ask'd a champion to defend;
Who after near a hundred virtuous years,
His senses perfect, free from pains and fears,
Replete with life, with honors, and with age,
Like an applauded actor left the stage;
Or like some victor in th' Olympic games,
Who having run his course, the crown of Glory claims.