Immortal Shakespeare! while I view thy shrine,
Where many a bard has been with rapture fir'd,
Accept these poor tho' grateful lays of mine,
These grateful lays thy relics have inspir'd.

Great nature's mirror, fancy's fav'rite child!
Whose wondrous muse could all her charms explain,
And soothe our ears with thy sweet warbling wild,
With control o'er ev'ry passion reign.

This flowery wreath I hand around thy urn,
Not decked with dew, with the the gen'rous tear,
And till the vital lamp shall cease to burn,
Thy mem'ry sweet I ever shall revere.

Ye weeping muses, vent the melting strain!
Ye rural swains, an annual tribute bring!
Collect from ev'ry grove and flow'ry plain,
The richest produce of the breathing spring.

Soft zephyrs fair your fragrant wings display.
Waft ev'ry sweet from all the flowers that bloom!
Ye fairy tribes that sport in Cynthia's ray,
Your airy circles lead around his tomb.

And you, ye nymphs of Avon's crystal stream,
With willows crown'd, your solemn dirges sing.
Till the last morn emits the splendid beam,
His aerial wakes him with the tuneful string.

–Thomas Kinnersley
Sepulchral Curiosities