Classic Poem

John! had thy Sickness snatch'd thee from our Sight,
And sent thee to the Realms of endless Night;
Posterity, perhaps, would ne'er have known
Thy Eye, thy Beard, thy Cowl & shaven Crown.
But now, Thy Face, by Smiberts matchless Hand,
Of Imortality secured shall stand.
When Nature into Ruin shall be hurl'd,
And the last Conflagration burn the World;
Then shall this Piece survive the gen'ral Evil,
For Flames, you know, will ne'er consume the Devil.