On the Death of Bonnell Thornton, Esq.

See Genius hangs her rueful head,
Like pity all in tears,
And sighing, cries, my THORNTON's dead,
For see, his shrine appears.

Wit rais'd the smile, whene'er he spoke,
Enforc'd by manly sense,
He never urg'd a single joke,
That gave the least offence.

No praise could ever make him vain,
No foe enforce a frown,
Yet cou'd he feel for other's pain,
As sharp as for his own.

Where will the needy find relief?
Where merit, meet a friend?
That while they tell their tale of grief,
Shall one like him attend?

Tho' fate has clos'd thee in the urn,
Thy name shall never die,
Thy matchless wit shall ever burn,
To endless memory.

Adieu, my dearest friend, adieu!
These lines are due from me,
For ev'ry rising hope I view,
Was planted first by thee.