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Duas uxores fortitus est;
Alteram Isabellam, honore à patre derivato, de
Deindè celsissimi principis ducis de Grafton viduam
dotariam; "Alteram Elizabetham Thomæ Foulkes de Barton in'
Com. Suff. armigeri
Filiam et hæredem. Inter humanitates studia felicitèr enutritus, Omnes liberalium artium disciplinas avidè arripuit; Quas morum suavitate haud leviter ornavit.
Postquam excessit ex ephebis, Continuò inter populares suos famâ eminens, Et comitatûs sui legatus ad Parliamentum missus, Ad' ardua regni negotia per annos prope triginta
se accinxit : Cumque apud illos amplissimorum virorum ordines
Solent nihil temerè effutire,
Sed probè perpensa dissertè expromere,
Orator gravis et pressus;
Non minus integritatis quam eloquentiæ laude
commendatus, Æquè omnium, utcunque inter se alioqui dissidentium,
Aures atque animos attraxit.
Annoque demum M.DCC.XIII, regnante Anna,
Felicissimæ florentissimæque memoriæ regina,
Ad Prolocutoris cathedram
Communi Senatûs universi voce designatus est :
Cum nullo tempore non difficile,
Tum illo certè, negotiis
Et variis et lubricis et implicatis difficillimum,
Cum dignitate sustinuit.
Honores alios, et omnia quæ sibi in lucrum cederent
Ut rei totus inserviret publicæ;
Justi rectique tenax, Et fide in patriam incorruptâ notus. Ubi omnibus, quæ virum civemque bonum decent,
officiis satisfecisset, Paulatim se à publicis consiliis in otium recipiens,
Inter literarum amenitates,
Inter ante-actæ vitæ haud insuaves recordationes,
Inter amicorum convictus et amplexus,
Honorificè consenuit ;
Et bonis omnibus, quibus charissimus vixit,
Hic, juxta cineres avi, suos condi voluit, et curavit
Gulielmus Bunbury Betus nepos et hæres.
PARAPHRASE OF THE ABOVE EPITAPH,
. . BY DR. JOHNSON*..
Thou who survey'st these walls with curiqus eye,
Pause at the tomb where HANMER's ashes lie;
His various worth through varied life attend,
And learn his virtues while thou mourn'st his end.
His force of genius burn'd in early youth,
With thirst of knowledge, and with love of truth;
His learning, join'd with each endearing art,
Charm'd ev'ry year, and gain'd on ev'ry heart.
Thus early wise, th' endanger'd realm to aid,
His country call'd him from the studious shade;
In life's first bloom his publick toils began,
At once commenc'd the senator and man.
In business dex'trous, weighty in debate,
Thrice ten long years he labour'd for the State:
* This Paraphrase is inserted in Mrs. Williams's Miscella, nies. The Latin is there said to be written by Dr. Freind. Of the person whose memory it celebrates, a copious account may be seen in the Appendix to the Supplement to the Biographia Britannica.
In ev'ry speech perstrasive wisdom flow'd,
In ev'ry act refulgent virtue glow'd:
Suspended faction ceas'd from rage and strife,
To hear his eloquence, and praise his life.
Resistless merit fix'd the Senate's choice,
Who hail'd him Speaker with united voice.
Illustrious age! how bright thy glories shone,
When HANMER filld the chair-and ANNE the
throne ! Then when dark arts obscur'd each fierce debate, When mutual frauds perplex'd the maze of state, The moderator firmly mild appear'd Beheld with love with veneration heard,
This task perform’d-he sought no gainful post,
Nor wish'd to glitter at his country's cost;
Strict on the right he fix'd his steadfast eye,
With temperate zeal and wise anxiety ;
Nor e'er from Virtue's paths was lur'd aside,
To pluck the flow'rs of pleasure, or of pride.
Her gifts despis'd, Corruption blush'd and Aled,
And Fame pursu'd him where Conviction led.
Age call’d, at length, his active mind to rest,
With honour sated, and with cares opprest;
To letter'd ease retir'd, and honest mirth,
To rural grandeur and domestic worth:
Delighted still to please mankind, or inend,
The patriot's fire yet sparkled in the friend.
Calm Conscience, then, his former life survey'd,
And recollected toils endear'd the shade,
Till Nature call’d him to the gen'ral doom,
And Virtuc's sorrow dignified his tomb,
TO MISS HICKMAN,*
PLAYING ON THE SPINNET.
Bright Stella, form’d for universal reign,
Too well you know to keep the slaves you gain ;
When in your eyes resistless lightnings play,.
Aw'd into love our conquer'd hearts obey,
And yield reluctant to despotic sway:
But when your music soothes the raging pain,
We bid propitious Heav'n prolong your reign,
We bless the tyrant, and we hug the chain.
When old Timotheus struck the vocal string,
Ambition's fury fir'd the Grecian king :
Unbounded projects lab'ring in his mind,
He pants for room, in one poor world confin'd.
Thus wak’d to rage, by music's dreadful pow'r,
He bids the sword destroy, the flame devour,
Had Stella's gentle touches mov'd the lyre,
Soon had the monarch felt a nobler fire;
No more delighted with destructive war,
Ambitious only now to please the fair ;.
Resign'd his thirst of empire to her charms,
And found a thousand worlds in Stella's arms.
PARAPHRASE OF PROVERBS, CHAP. VI.
Verses 6, 7, 8, 9, 10, 11.
“ Go to the Ant, thou Sluggardt." Turn on the prudent ant thy heedful eyes, Observe her labours, sluggard, and be wise :
No stern command, no monitory voice,
Prescribes her duties, or directs her choice;
Yet, timely provident, she hastes away,
To snatch the blessings of the plenteous day;
When fruitful summer loads the teeming plain,
She crops the harvest, and she stores the grain.
How long shall Sloth usurp thy useless hours,
Unnerve thy vigour, and enchain thy pow'rs:
While artful shades thy downy couch inclose,
And soft solicitation courts repose ?
Amidst the drowsy charms of dull delight,
Year chases year with unremitted Aight,
Till want, now following, fraudulent, and slow,
Shall spring to seize thee like an ambush'd foe.
HORACE, LIB. IV. ODE VII, TRANSLATED.
The snow, dissolv’d, no more is seen,
The fields and woods, behold! are green;
The changing year renews the plain,
The rivers know their banks again;
The sprightly nymph and naked grace
The mazy dance together trace;
The changing year's successive plan
Proclaims mortality to man;
Rough winter's blasts to spring give way,
Spring yields to summer's sov'reign ray;
Then summer sinks in autumn's reign,
And winter chills the world again;
Her losses soon the moon supplies,
But wretched man, when once he lies
Where Priam and his sons are laid,
Is nought but ashes and a shade.
Who knows if Jove, who counts our score,
Will toss us in a morning more?