Being each as great a thief as he. But even this deity's existence Shall lend my simile assistance: Our modern bards! why, what a pox Are they—but senseless stones and blocks? * * * * * EPITAPH ON DR. PARNELL. This tomb, inscribed to gentle Parnell's name, May speak our gratitude, but not his fame. What heart but feels his sweetly moral lay, That leads to truth through pleasure's flowery way? Celestial themes confess'd his tuneful aid; And Heaven, that lent him genius, was repaid. Needless to him the tribute we bestow, The transitory breath of fame below: More lasting rapture from his works shall rise, While converts thank their poet in the skies. * * * * * EPITAPH ON EDWARD PURDON. Here lies poor Ned Purdon, from misery freed, Who long was a bookseller's hack: He led such a damnable life in this world, I don't think he'll wish to come back. * * * * * EPILOGUE, SPOKEN BY MR. LEE LEWIS, IN THE CHARACTER OF HARLEQUIN, AT HIS BENEFIT. Hold! Prompter, hold! a word before your nonsense: I'd speak a word or two, to ease my conscience. My pride forbids it ever should be said My heels eclipsed the honours of my head; That I found humour in a piebald vest, Or ever thought that jumping was a jest. [_Takes off his mask._