Epitaph on the Hon. Simon Harcourt


To this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art! draw near,
Here lies the Friend most lov'd, the Son most dear:
Who ne'er knew Joy, but Friendship might divide,
Or gave his Father Grief but when he dy'd.
How vain is Reason, Eloquence how weak!
If Pope must tell what H ARCOURT cannot speak.
Oh let thy once-lov'd Friend inscribe thy Stone,
And with a Father's sorrows mix his own!
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