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Lettered inside image: "70 | Caught at a court; purged off by purer air, | And simpler diet; gifts of rural life! | Blest be that hand divine, which gently laid | My heart at rest, beneath this humble shed. | The world's a stately bark, on dangerous seas | With pleasure seen, but boarded at our peril: | Here, on a single plank thrown safe ashore, | I hear the tumult of the distant throng, | As that of seas remote, or dying storms; | And meditate on scenes more silent still; | Pursue my theme, and fight the fear of death. | Here, like a shepherd gazing from his hut, | Touching his reed or leaning on his staff, | Eager ambition's fiery chase I see; | I see the circling hunt of noisy men | Burst law's inclosure, leap the mounds of right, | Pursuing and pursued, each other's prey; | As wolves, for rapine; as the fox, for wiles; | *Till death, that mighty hunter, earths them all. | Why all this toil for triumphs of an hour? | What, though we wade in wealth, or soar in fame, | Earth's highest station ends in, 'here he lies!' | And 'dust to dust' concludes her noblest song. | If this song live, posterity shall know | One, though in Britain born, with courtiers bred, | Who thought e'en gold might come a day too late; | Nor on his subtle death-bed plann'd his scheme | For future vacancies in church or state; | Some avocation deeming it--to die"; lower right: " inv & sc | WB"; lower left: "London. Pubd. June 27. 1796. by R Edwards, 142 New Bond Street."