Epitaph on James Moore Smythe

Here lies what had not birth, nor shape, nor fame;
No gentleman! no man! no-thing! no name!
For Jammie ne'er grew James; and what they call
More, shrunk to Smith--and Smith's no name at all.
Yet die thou can'st not, Phantom, oddly fated:
For how can no-thing be annihilated?
Ex nihilo nihil fit.
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