EPITAPH. NO Tomb alas! A distant plain thy grave, A fate, Carstairs — too common to the brave. O Indian, stop! — this sacred — field not tread; Or learn each virtue — that adorn'd the dead. Whate'er a friend, a brother, son, could claim; All that — was gen'rous — he deserv'd the name; Tho' adverse fate! too oft attacks the best. In change reverse — his mind sustain'd the test, Not proud to show, or fawn on Fortune's smiles. A spirit gentle, far above all wiles. His merit justly — claims the greenest bays. By love transmitted in much sweeter lays.