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When great men die who, living, claim respect
From greatness only, on the 'scutchen'd hearse,
In awful grandeur waves each sable plume,
And pomp supplies the place of real regret.
But when the man of worth exchanges life
For better scenes, 'tis not the passing bell,
Nor splendid orgies our attention claim,
But ev'ry thought to one emotion yields,
And unavailing anguish reigns supreme!
This Britain felt, and own'd the mournful truth,
When lost her father, magistrate, and friend,
And doubly, trebly, felt the sacred bond
Of gratitude, for public blessings dealt
From the late much loved source of private virtue.