EPITAPH on JAMES QUIN, in Bath Cathedral

That tongue, which set the table on a roar, And charm'd the public ear, is heard no more! Clos'd are those eyes, the harbingers of wit, Which spoke, before the tongue, what Shakespeare writ. Cold are those hands, which, living, were stretch'd forth, At friendship's call to succour modest worth. Here lies James Quin! deign, reader, to be taught (Whate'er thy strength of body, force of thought, In nature's happiest mould however cast) To this complexion thou must come at last.