Richard Tickell

Anonymous, "To the Memory of Mrs. Tickell" General Evening Post (23 August 1787).

Replete with every charm to win the heart,
To soothe life's sorrows, or its joys impart,
Soft — timid — elegant! her beauteous mien
Bespoke the feeling — gentle mind, within.
Torn from her Husband's fond adoring arms,
From Friends who weep her matchless worth and charms,
By pale disease, which on her Beauties prey'd,
Her roses blighted, and her form decay'd;
They — like the graces of her virtuous mind—
Were not for weak mortality design'd!
Thus the sweet tub'rose, in the thorny shade,
Whose flow'rets wither, and whose honors fade,
Till fost'ring dews and sun-shine's chearing ray
Again call forth its beauties into day—
Thus, 'midst the agonizing tears of woe,
Truth whispers from the grave — Thus shall thou blow!
There is a coming morn, shall bid thee rise,
Where Truth and Piety shall live sublime,
And Worth shall find its own congenial clime.
Then mourn not that THE SAINT, thus undismay'd,
Died — at that dread command — she e'er obey'd!