Corrupted freemen are the worst of slaves

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

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

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

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

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

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.