Poets

Let gaudy Mirth, to the blithe Carrol-song, In loose light-measur'd Numbers dance along; Thou, Muse no flow'ry Fancies here display,

Oldfield's no more!-And can the Muse forbear, O'er Oldfield's Grave to shed a grateful Tear? Shall she, the Glory of the British Stage,

Still let low wits, who sense nor honour prize, Sneer at all gratitude, all truth disguise; At living worth, because alive, exclaim,