The dull flat falsehood serves for policy, and in the cunning, truth's itself a lie.

Careless of censure, nor too fond of fame, Still pleased to praise, yet not afraid to blame, Averse alike to flatter or offend, Not free from faults, nor yet too vain to mend.

To the Elysian shades dismiss my soul, where no carnation fades.

These riches are possess'd, but not enjoy'd!

Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honour clear; Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end, Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend.

Who builds a church to God and not to fame, Will never mark the marble with his name.

No craving void left aching in the soul.