My
Own
EPITAPH
.
Here
lies
a
true
Maid
,
deformed
and
old
;
Who
,
that
she
never
was
handsome
,
ne'er
needed
be
told
.
Tho'
she
ne'er
had
a
Lover
,
much
Friendship
had
met
;
And
thought
all
Mankind
quite
out
of
her
Debt
.
She
ne'er
could
forgive
,
for
she
ne'er
had
resented
;
As
she
ne'er
had
deny'd
,
so
she
never
repented
.
She
lov'd
the
whole
Species
,
but
some
had
distinguish'd
;
But
Time
and
much
Thought
had
all
Passion
extinguish'd
.
Tho'
not
fond
of
her
Station
,
content
with
her
Lot
;
A
Favour
receiv'd
she
had
never
forgot
.
She
rejoic'd
in
the
Good
that
her
Neighbour
possess'd
,
And
Piety
,
Purity
,
Truth
she
profess'd
.
She
liv'd
in
much
Peace
,
but
ne'er
courted
Pleasure
;
Her
Book
and
her
Pen
had
her
Moments
of
Leisure
.
Pleas'd
with
Life
,
fond
of
Health
,
yet
fearless
of
Death
;
Believing
she
lost
not
her
Soul
with
her
Breath
.