"Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind,He has not left a better or wiser behind;His pencil was striking, resistless and grand,His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;Still born to improve us in every part,His pencil, our faces, his manners, our heart:To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,When they judged without skill, he was still hard of hearing;When they talked of their Raffaelles, Correggios, and stuff,He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff!"
"Here Reynolds is laid, and to tell you my mind,He has not left a better or wiser behind;His pencil was striking, resistless and grand,His manners were gentle, complying, and bland;Still born to improve us in every part,His pencil, our faces, his manners, our heart:To coxcombs averse, yet most civilly steering,When they judged without skill, he was still hard of hearing;When they talked of their Raffaelles, Correggios, and stuff,He shifted his trumpet, and only took snuff!"