Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end,
Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend;
Ennobled by himself, by all approv'd,
Prais'd, wept, and honour'd, by the Muse he lov'd.
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
THY reliques, Rowe! to this fair urn we trust,
And sacred place by Dryden's awful dust:
Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies,
To which thy tomb shall guide inquiring eyes.
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest!
Bless'd in thy genius, in thy love, too, bless'd!
One grateful woman to thy fame supplies
What a whole thankless land to his denies.
ON MRS. CORBET,
WHO DIED OF A CANCER IN HER BREAST.
HERE rests a woman, good without pretence,
Bless'd with plain reason and with sober sense:
No conquest she but o'er herself desir'd,
No arts essay'd but not to be admir'd.
Passion and pride were to her soul unknown,
Convinc'd that virtue only is our own.
So unaffected, so compos'd a mind,
So firm yet soft, so strong yet so refin'd,
Heav'n, as its purest gold, by tortures tried;
The saint sustain'd it, but the woman died.
HON. R. DIGBY AND OF HIS SISTER
ERECTED BY THEIR FATHER LORD DIG BY,
In the Church of Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, 1727.
Go! fair example of untainted youth,
Of modest wisdom and pacific truth:
Compos'd in sufferings, and in joy sedate,
Good without noise, without pretension great:
Just of thy word, in every thought sincere,
Who knew no wish but what the world might hear:
Of softest manners, unaffected mind,
Lover of peace, and friend of humankind!
Go live! for Heaven's eternal year is thine;
Go, and exalt thy moral to divine.
And thou, bless'd maid! attendant on his doom, Pensive hath follow'd to the silent tomb,
Steer'd the same course to the same quiet shore,
Not parted long, and now to part no more!
Go then, where only bliss sincere is known!
Go where to love and to enjoy are one!
Yet take these tears, mortality's relief,
And till we share your joys, forgive our grief:
These little rites, a stone, a verse, receive;
'Tis all a father, all a friend, can give!
ON SIR GODFREY KNELLER,
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1723. KNELLER, by Heav'n, and not a master taught, Whose art was nature, and whose pictures thought; Now for two ages having snatch'd from fate Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great,
Lies crown'd with princes' honours, poets' lays,
Due to his merit and brave thirst of praise.
Living, great Nature fear'd he might outvie
Her works; and, dying, fears herself may die.
ON GENERAL HENRY WITHERS,
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1729.
HERE, Withers! rest; thou bravest, gentlest mind,
Thy country's friend, but more of humankind.
Oh, born to armas! O worth in youth approv'd!
O soft humanity, in age belov'd!
For thee the hardy veteran drops a tear,
And the gay courtier feels the sigh sincere.
Withers, adieu! yet not with thee remove
Thy martial spirit or thy social love!
Amidst corruption, luxury, and rage,
Still leave some ancient virtues to our age;
Nor let us say (those English glories gone)
The last true Briton lies beneath this stone.
ON MR. ELIJAH FENTON,
AT EASTHAMSTED, BERKS, 1730.
THIS modest stone, what few vain marbles can,
May truly say,' Here lies an honest mau;
A poet bless'd beyond the poet's fate,
Whom Heaven kept sacred from the proud and great;
Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease,
Content with science in the vale of peace.'
Calmly he look'd on either life, and here
Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear;
From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfied,
Thank'd Heav'n that he had liv'd, and that he died.'
ON MR. GAY,
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1732.
OF manners gentle, of affections mild;
In wit, a man; simplicity, a child :
With native humour tempering virtuous rage,
Form'd to delight at once and lash the age:
Above temptation in a low estate,
And uncorrupted ev'n among the great:
A safe companion, and an easy friend,
Unblam'd through life, lamented in thy end.
These are thy honours! not that here thy bust
Is mix'd with heroes, or with kings thy dust:
But that the worthy and the good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosoms- Here lies Gay!'
INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON, IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
ISAACUS NEWTONIUS,
QUEM IMMORTALEM
TESTANTUR TEMPUS, NATURA, CŒLUM:
HOC MARMOR FATETUR.
NATURE and Nature's laws lay hid in night:
God said, Let Newton be!' and all was light.
ON DR. FRANCIS ATTERBURY,
BISHOP OF ROCHESTER,
WHO DIED IN Exile at paris, 1752.
[His only daughter having expired in his arms, immediately after she arrived in France to see him.]
She. YES, we have liv’d-One pang, and then we part!
May Heaven, dear father! now have all thy heart.
Yet, ah! how once we lov'd, remember still,
Till you are dust like me.
Then mix this dust with thine-O 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
died.
ON EDMUND DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM,
WHO DIED IN THE NINETEENTH YEAR OF HIS
AGE, 1735.
Ir modest youth, with cool reflection crown'd,
And every opening 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 faine
Attend the shade of gentle Buckingham :
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