Poem of Alexander Pope in txt speak

thus unlamNtd pas th prwd awA,

th gAz of fools, n pagaent of a dA!

so perish all whoz brest neva lernd 2 glO

4 othaz’ gd, or melt @ othaz’ wO!

wot can atOn (O evr-injrd shAd!)

thy fAt unpitEd, n thy rIts unpAd?

No frndz complAnt, no knd domestc tEr

plEzd thy pAl gOst, or grAsd thy mornfl bEr.

by forAn hnds thy dyin Is wer clOsd,

by forAn hnds thy decnt lims compOsd,

by forAn hnds thy humbl grAv adornd,

by strAngrs honrd, n by strAngrs mornd!

wot tho’no frnds in sAbl wEds apEr,

n bear abwt th mokrE of wO

2 midnIt dances, n th pblic shO?

wot tho’no wEpin luvs thy ashes grAs,

nor polishd marbl emUl8 thy fAs?

wot tho’no sAcrd erth alow thE room,

nor halowd dirge b muterd ova thy tomb?

yet shal thy grave w/ rIsin flwers b drest,

n th grEn trf  lI lItlE on thy brest:

ther shal th morn her erliest tErs bestO,

ther th 1st rOzz of th yEr shal blO;

wIl Anglz w/ ther silvr wngs ovashAd

th grwnd nw sAcrd by thy reliqs mAd.

so pEsful rests, withwt a stOn, a nAm,

wot 1s hd bUT, tItlz, welth, n fAm.

hw luvd, hw honrd 1s, avAls thE nt,

2 whom relAtd, or by whom begot;

a hEp of dst alOn remAns of thE,

‘tis all thw art, n all th prwd shal B!