An Epitaph

If beauty's fairest form, and each bright charm, That with soft love th' enamour'd soul does warm; If sprightly fancy with sound judgment join'd; Good nature, sweet deportment, sense refin'd; And what we highest prize,—a virtuous mind; If conduct blameless, and unblemish'd life, In every state of virgin, widow, wife; Amidst a world of follies, flatt'ries, cares, and strife; If nicest honour, spotless purity, Firm faith, fair hope, and boundless charity; Unerring prudence, strict regard to truth; And deathless fame acquir'd in bloom of youth; If these, or any grace, had power to save The best of wives and women from the grave: If all men's wishes, and the husband's pray'r; The force of drugs, or wise physician's care, Cou'd respite righteous heaven's severe decree, To rend a blessing from the world and me; Then, rueful Pancras, none had ever read Maria's honour'd name among thy dead.