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EPITAPH.
 
 
 
 
 
 

EPITAPH.

So fades the Fair, the transient Roses fled,
(No Charms but Virtue bloom around the Dead)
The Patriot so forgets his Land's Defence,
His fine Address, and flowing Eloquence:
“Ye Living, learn; Your Graces so consume,
Beauty and Genius mingle in the Tomb.