English poem
The EPITAPH
Within this Hole his Body lies, His Soul is fled, the Lord knows where; See the glad Croud with joyful Eyes, Whilst each let's fall a chearful Tear; Let ev'ry Foot tread down this Clod, And willing Hands heap on the Clay; Oh! bury deep the sordid Sod, And lock it till the Judgment Day.
More by Sir Jones Henry
- PHILOSOPHY, a POEM, addressed to the LADIES who attended Mr. Booth's Lectures in Dublin
- Poems on Several Occasions, Song
- TEMPE, a POEM inscrib'd to SOLITUDE
- The Character of a true Patriot, and a good Man
- THE ISLE of WIGHT, A POEM, IN THREE CANTOS, CANTO III
- The Patriot Enterprize
- THE PRUSSIAN CAMPAIGN, &c
- The Royal Vision