Dr. John Wolcot

H., "To the Memory of John Wolcot, M.D." The Sun (9 March 1821).

Thy wit and humour, WOLCOT, shine
In satire bold: — in lyrick line;
This — through the tender bosom steals:
That — points the sting which folly feels.

Though born with faculties to dart
The arrow barbed with ruthless smart;
Yet those who once thy friendship knew,
Ne'er on them satire's missile drew.

No; to that hallow'd shrine thy soul
Responsive beat, without controul.
Worth oft through thee attention gain'd,
And Genius thence renown obtain'd.

The laughter-loving lad thy verse
Shall, "holding both his sides," rehearse;
And those who music's charms admire,
Will list to Saint Cecilia's lyre.

Thy plaintive strains her strings shall sound,
And fill the ambient air around,
With notes so admirably sweet,
That cherub choirs may freely greet.

Such various pow'rs, by thee display'd,
Each thought, in nicest dress array'd,
While language lasts, to latest times
Shall fondly be pronounc'd thy rhymes.