Oh! breathe not his name, let it sleep in the shade, Where cold and unhonour'd his relics are laid.

Go where glory waits thee, But while fame elates thee, Oh! still remember me!

And the tear that we shed, though in secret it rolls, Shall long keep his memory green in our souls.

Oh, call it by some better name, For friendship sounds too cold.

Some lie beneath the churchyard stone, And some before the speaker.

I have no regret for any public act of my life, and history will vindicate my memory.

Charm'd with the foolish whistling of a name.