Epitaph on Hannah Robinson of Lichfield

Ere ten short months have ran their swift career,
Three lovely sisters press the untimely bier!
Last of the fallen blossoms! griev’d I pay,
At thy pure shrine, this tributary lay.

If ever dwelt with mortal woman’s mind
Angelic worth, from sin’s dark stains refin’d,
O gentle Hannah! in thy beauteous frame
From Heaven to Earth the soft perfection came.

Unhappy Husband, who art doom’d to mourn
The lamp of joy extinguish’d in her urn,
May thy torn breast congenial meekness prove,
O, live to emulate thy sainted love!
So shalt thou, passing a few destin’d years,
With pious hope illume thy falling tears,
And when thy clay this sacred dust shall join,
Be ever hers who transiently was thine.