_Whose devotional Elocution was remarkably impregnated with
soporific Qualities_.


Reader! since Parson Sleep is gone,
And lies beneath yon humble stone,
Whene'er to Kingswear Church we go,
Holy the sabbath-day to keep
(Indeed 'tis right it should be so),
We never more shall go to _sleep_.




LINES,

SUPPOSED TO BE WRITTEN BY A FEMALE FRIEND,

_Upon an Infant recommended to her Care by its dying Mother_.


Bless'd be thy slumbers, little love!
Unconscious of the ills so near;
May no rude noise thy dreams remote,
Or prompt the artless early tear;--

For she who gave thee life is gone,
Whose trust it was thy life to rear,
Now in the cold and mould'ring stone