Epitaph

TO THE MEMORY OF A WORTHY MAN, THE REV. MR. SLEEP, CURATE OF KINGSWEAR CHURCH, DEVON,

Whose devotional Elocution was remarkably impregnated with soporific Qualities.

Reader! since Parson Sleep is gone, And lies beneath yon humble stone, Whene’er to Kingswear Church we go, Holy the sabbath-day to keep (Indeed ’tis right it should be so), We never more shall go to sleep.

LINES,

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY A FEMALE FRIEND,

Upon an Infant recommended to her Care by its dying Mother.

Bless’d be thy slumbers, little love! Unconscious of the ills so near; May no rude noise thy dreams remote, Or prompt the artless early tear;—

For she who gave thee life is gone, Whose trust it was thy life to rear, Now in the cold and mould’ring stone Calls for that artless early tear.

Sleep on, thou little dreamer! sleep; For, long as I shall tarry here, I’ll soothe thee; thou shalt never weep, Tho’ flows for thee the tend’rest tear.

Then be thy gentle visions blest, Nor e’er thy bosom know that fear, Which thro’ the night disturbs my rest, And prompts Affection’s trembling tear.