David Hume

William Julius Mickle, "On the Death of David Hume" St. James's Chronicle or British Evening Post (8 November 1776).

Silence, ye groveling Wolves and Bears,
And hear the song of R—ss—l!
Hark, how upon the Muses Hill
This Bard kicks up a Bustle!

He calls the Muses lying Jades,
A Pack of venal Strumpets;
And Reason good, for none of them
The Death of David trumpets.

But what — shall Shakespeare's Muse bedew
This David's leaden Urn?
Or at his tomb, O Milton! say,
Shall thy Urania mourn?

Shall gentle Spenser's injur'd Muse
For him attune the Lay?
No, none of these o'er his cold Grave
Shall strew one Leaf of Bay.

To him, the modern Midas, these
No grateful Chapter owe;
Yet shall his Friends, with proper Wreaths,
Adorn his heavy Brow.

For him shall R—l rant and rave
In hobbling, rumbling Lays;
And S—h, in barb'rous sleepy Prose
Shall grunt and croak his Praise.