This scholar, rake, Christian, dupe, gamester, and poet

Heart of oak are our ships, Heart of oak are our men; We always are ready.

Let others hail the rising sun: I bow to that whose course is run.

Prologues like compliments are loss of time; ’T is penning bows and making legs in rhyme.

Corrupted freemen are the worst of slaves.

Their cause I plead,—plead it in heart and mind; A fellow-feeling makes one wondrous kind.

Here lies James Quinn. Deign, reader, to be taught, Whate’er thy strength of body, force of thought, In Nature’s happiest mould however cast, To this complexion thou must come at last.