“MY DEAR SIR GEORGE,

"Ye lime-trees ranged around this hallowed urn, Shoot forth with lively power at Spring's return; And be not slow a stately growth to rear Bending your docile boughs from year to year, Till in a solemn concave they unite; Like that Cathedral Dome beneath whose height Reynolds, among our country's noble Dead, In the last sanctity of fame is laid. Here may some Painter sit in future days, Some future Poet meditate his lays; Not mindless of that distant age renowned When Inspiration hovered o'er this ground, The haunt of him who sang how spear and shield In civil conflict met on Bosworth-field; And of that famous Youth, full soon removed From earth!) by mighty Shakespeare's self approved, Fletcher's Associate, Jonson's Friend beloved.