Methinks I view the last sepulchral frame,
That bears inscrib'd her much lamented name,
See! to my view the Drama's sons display'd:
What laurell'd phantoms croud the awful shade!
First of the choir immortal Shakespear stands,
Whose searching eye all Nature's scene commands:
Bright in his look celestial spirit blooms,
And Genius o'er him waves his eagle plumes!
Next tender Southern, skill'd the soul to move;
And gentle Rowe, who tunes the breast to love.
The witty Congreve near with sprightly mien;
And easy Farquhar with his lighter scene.
A numerous train of bards the shrine surround,
In tragic strains and comic lore renown'd.