Classic Poem

Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind,
He has not left a better or wiser behind;
His pencil was striking, resistless and grand,
His manners are gentle, complying and bland;
Still born to improve us in every part,
His pencil our faces, his manners our heart:

To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,
When they judged without skill he was still hard of hearing:
When they talked of their Raphaels, Corregios and stuff,
He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff.