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EPITAPH.
RIGHT underneath these humble stores,
Lie honest Peter Duthie's bones.
Who it appears,
Inhabited this world of ours,
Aided by the celestial powers,
Full ninety years.
But like the rest of human kind,
To earth he was at last consign'd,
And here he lies;
Such is the lot of mortals all,
Since ever man at first did fall.
None liv'd but ⟨dies⟩
So Reader learn thy awful fate,
And know thy mortal, true estate.
To sorrows born
No man but once must feel the smart,
Of Death's sure aiming fatal dart,
Nor from it turn.
Let wisdom then be your true guide,
And ne'er be swell'd by earthly pride,
For here at rest,
Or some such place both you and I,
Will be condemn'd a while to lie,
By earth still ⟨prest⟩
FINIS.
