But see! the master-mourner makes his way,
To end his office for the coffin'd clay;
Pleased that our rustic men and maids behold
His plate like silver, and his studs like gold,
As they approach to spell the age, the name,
And all the titles of th' illustrious dame. —
This as (my duty done) some scholar read,
A Village-father look'd disdain and said:
"Away, my friends! why take such pains to know
" What some brave marble soon in Church shall show?
"Where not alone her gracious name shall stand,
" But how she lived — the blessing of the land;
"How much we all deplored the noble dead,
" What groans we utter'd and what tears we shed;
"Tears, true as those, which in the sleepy eyes
" Of weeping cherubs on the stone shall rise;
"Tears, true as those which, ere she found her grave,
" The noble Lady to our sorrows gave. "