IN HOLY-ROOD CHURCH, SOUTHAMPTON.
When Pomp, when Wealth, when Greatness sink to dust,
Though Vanity adorn the splendid bust,
Sincerer drops of tributary woe
O'er the lone urn of modest Merit flow.
And tears as true as e'er embalm'd the dead
Shall D'Aussey! o'er thy humble tomb be shed,
For though thy frugal temper ne'er supplied
The selfish calls of Luxury and Pride,
Yet Pity's gentle voice thy heart pursu'd,
And felt the Luxury of doing good,
While Want reliev'd by silent bounties given,
Wafts with her grateful prayers thy soul to heaven.
Henry James Pye
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/epitaph-on-charles-d-aussey-esquire/
