The poets of Great Britain complete from Chaucer to Churchill

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But that the worthy and the good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosoms---Here lies Gay.

XII. INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON.

In Westminster-Abbey.
ISAACUS NEWTONUS:

Quem Immortalem
Testantur Tempus, Natura, Cælum :

Mortalem

Hoc Marmor Fatetur.
Nature, and Nature's laws lay hid in night ;
God said, Let Newton be! and all was light.

XIII. ON DR. FRANCIS ATTERBURY,

Bishop of Rochester, who died in exile at Paris, 1732. [His only daughter having expired in his arms, immediately after she arrived in France to see him.]

SHE.

SE Yes, we have liv'd-One pang, and then we part! May heav'n, dear Father ! now have all thy heart, Yet, ah! how once we lov’d, remember still, Till you are dust like me.

HE.

Dear shade! I will: Then mix this dust with thine spotless ghost ! O more than fortune, friends, or country lost ! Is there on earth one care, one wish beside ? Yes --SAVE MY COUNTRY, Heav'n,

-He said, and dy'd.

XIV. ON EDMUND DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM,

Who died in the Nineteenth year of his age, 1735.

1r modest youth, with cool reflection crown'd,
And ev'ry op’ning virtue blooming round,
Could save a parent's justest pride from fate,
Or add one patriot to a sinking state;
This weeping marble had not ask'd thy tear,
Or sadly told how many hopes lie here!
The living virtue now had shone approv'd,
The senate heard him, and his country lov'd.
Yet softer honours, and less noisy fame
Attend the shade of gentle Buckingham;
In whom a race, for courage fam'd and art,
Ends in the milder merit of the heart;
And chiefs, or sages, long to Britain givin,
Pays the last tribute of a saint to heav'n.

xv. ror ONE WHO WOULD NOT BE

BURIED IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY.
Heroes and kings! your distance keep;
In peace let one poor poet sleep,
Who never flatter'd folks like you ;
Let Horace blush, and Virgil too.

Under this marble, or under this sill,
Or under this turf, or.e'en what they will,
Whatever an heir, or a friend in his stead,
Dr any good creature shall lay o’er my head,
Lies one who ne'er car'd, and still cares not a pin
What they said, or may say, of the mortal within;
But who, living and dying, serene still and free,
Crusts in God, that as well as he was, he shall be.

XVII. LORD CONINGSBY'S EPITAPH*.

dere lies Lord Coningsby-be civil;
"he rest God knows-so does the Devil.

This epitaph, originally written on Picus Mirandula, is apied to F. Chartres, and printed among the works of Swift. See awksworth's edition, Vol. VI. s.

END OF VOL. 111.

Printed by S. Hollingsworth, Crane-Court, Fleet Streer.

CONTENTS.

MORAL ESSAYS,

In four Epistles.

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