Sure ruthless Time, and no unhallow'd hand, Could COWLEY'S sacred Monument deface, COWLEY aloft among the tuneful race Of Albion's Bards, who dignify her land, And who with noblest Bards might proudly stand: COWLEY, adorn'd with ev'ry moral grace, In whose pure life we loyal firmness trace, Most faithful of HIS KING'S most faithful Band. Should Time at last destroy the votive stone, Thus rear'd in honour of the Poet's name, There can his pow'r extend, but there alone— For VIRTUE, GENIUS, shall assert their claim, Shall boast that gentle COWLEY was their own, And consecrate his Works to endless fame. T.
