I.

My wish were this; or never to be born, Or to descend from generous sires, and share The blessings which attend a wealthy heir. If heaviest woes assail, ne’er left forlorn Without a friend are they of nobler race, Hereditary trophies deck their head: The records of the brave with joy we trace, No distant age their memory can efface, For virtue’s torch unquenched pours radiance o’er the dead.