Epitaph for Joseph Blacket, Late Poet and Shoemaker
STRANGER! behold, interred together,The souls of learning and of leather.Poor Joe is gone, but left his all:You'll find his relics in a stall.His works were neat, and often foundWell stitched, and with morocco bound.Tread lightly--where the bard is laid--He cannot mend the shoe he made;Yet is he happy in his hole,With verse immortal as his sole.But still to business he held fast,And stuck to Phoebus to the last.Then who shall say so good a fellowWas only "leather and prunella?"For character--he did not lack it;And if he did, 'twere shame to "Black-it."
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