The following poem is by William Baker whose sister, Sarah Baker, married John Man of Reading on 5 June 1775.

VERSES
ON THE
DEATH OF J.S.G.

An Amiable Child,

Who died on Saturday, September 19, 1772.

Animula vagula, blandula !  ADRIANI Imp. Solil.

ONE fatal day, as Sol, profusely bright,
Pour’d through the air his richest stores of light
To deck the scene; th’ angelic choir above,
Guardians of virtue, meekness, truth, and love,
In synod sat, and view'd the little throng,
(Their tender charge,) who, jocund, stray'd along
The plains; when, lo! MYRTILLUS, lovely boy!
(Now source of grief, as 'erst the source of joy,)
Was seen, amidst the prattling tribe, to sport,
By the bright seraphs of the the ethereal court;
Who nor by space, nor yet to form, confin'd,
View scenes remote, and penetrate the mind.
At length th'enraptur'd Uriel silence broke,
And in these words th' assembled host bespoke.
 "Ye see those little sportive wanderers there,
 "The infant race, our own peculiar care:
 "Amidst them, note yon lovely peerless child,
 "Of aspect beauteous, and of temper mild;
 "In whose unsully’d breast fair Meekness reigns,
 "Eternal guest in these our pure domains:
 "Behold his blooming health, choice blessing giv'n,
 "Emblem of nobler life, deriv'd from heav’n;
 " Health, such as we immortals only know,
 "By Fate deny'd to Frailty's sons below.
 "That spotless babe, though sprung of mortal birth,
 "Was ne'er design'd th'inhabitant of earth:
 " Disrob'd of flesh, from lower mansions torn,
 "His innocence would this our court adorn."
Thus Uriel spoke, acclaim'd by all the choir;
Each clapp'd his wings and tun'd his golden lyre.

Scarce had the god of day ,th' unweary'd sun,
With steady pace, another course begun,
When Death was sent, the babe to call away.
Who, sweetly slumb'ring, in his cradle lay.
The willing monarch came, and aim' d his dart:
His weapon flew, but miss'd the vital part.
Smiling in pain, th'awaken'd babe display'd
Such eloquence of charms, as soon dismay'd
The fiend; who fearing, part, to longer stay,
And grudging, part, to quit his lovely prey,
Distracted stood: mean-time the choir above,
Guardians of virtue, meekness, truth, and love,
Impatient, sound aloud their high command,
Dauntless, to lift again his iron hand,
Nor thus, with wayward cruel pity, slow,
T'afflict the babe, and stay the mortal blow. ---
O'er this last scene the muse her tears has shed,
Nor would the dying draw, nor paint the dead:
Convulsing strokes quick stopp'd the purple tide;
The cherub soar'd on high, the infant died!

                                                                        W.B.

Stat sua  cuique dies ---  breve et irrepariabile tempus! Virg. Aen. X.

Someone has written next to W.B. 'Wm. Baker the learned printer' then four words that I cannot make out the second of which may be ‘of’.