Henry Fielding

Thomas Dermody, "Sonnet, to the Memory of Fielding" Poems: consisting of Essays, Lyric, Elegiac, &c. (1792) 81.

When Sorrow wont her meagre hand display,
And all the train of Transport, frighted, fly,
To thy sweet lines, I turn a languid eye;
Soon, soon, illum'd with HUMOUR'S sparkling ray:
For at thy magic word, dull doubts, and brooding fears decay.

Dazzled with thy Meridian glare, I turn
To the meek Parson, and his pupil true,
Or, deeply with thy fond AMELIA mourn,
And all the woes of private Virtue view.

Thine was the pen, in Judgment's fount, embu'd,
Thine was the pen, to touch each master-spring,
Pale Vice, abash'd, not daring to be good;
And worth compleat, thy serious Muse cou'd sing.

NATURE herself, sits smiling o'er thy page,
Compassion weeps, and Laughter holds his side;
LIFE reads, unmask'd, the full historic Stage,
Whilst RABELAIS' wit, CERVANTES' comic pride,
And LIVY'S fluent stile, thy matchless palm divide.