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On Dr. FRANCIS ATTERBURY, Bishop of Rochester, who
died in exile at Paris, 1732. [His only Daughter having expired in his arms, immediately after the arrived in France to see him.]
DIALOG U E.
May heav'n, dear father! now have all thy heart.
Till you are dust like me.
Dear shade! I will:
He said, and dy'd.
I shall conclude thefe examples of the ferious kind with an Epitaph written by Mr. Smart, to the memory of Master ***, who died of a lingering illness, aged eleven.
Henceforth be every tender tear supprest,
And in th' eleventh winter died a MAN. Amongst the Epitaphs of a punning and ludicrous caft, I know of none prettier than that which is said to have been written by Mr. Prior on himself, wherein he is pleasantly satirical upon the folly of thofe who value themselves on account of the long series of ancestors through which they can trace their pedigree.
Nobles and Heralds, by your leave,
Here lie the bones of Matthew Prior,
Let Bourbon or Nalau go higher.
let In peace
Of the same cast is that written by Mr. Pope on one who would not be buried in Westminster-abbey. Heroes, and kings ! your distance keep,
one poor poet sleep, Who never flatter'd folks like you :
Let Horace blush, and Virgil too. The following Epitaph on a Miser contains a good cau. tion and an agreeable raillery.
Reader, beware immod'rate love of pelf:
But Dr. Swift's Epitaph on the same subject is, I think, a mafter-piece of the kind.
EPITAPH on a MISER.
Will think his better Half alive. We shall give but one example more of this kind, which is a merry Epitaph on an old Fiddler, who was remarkable (we may suppose) for beating time to his own musick.
On STEPHEN the Fiddler.
Stephen beat Time, now Time's beat Stephen. We are now come to that sort of Epitaph which rejects Rhyme, and has no certain and determinate measure ; but where the diction must be pare and strong, every word have weight, and the antithesis be preserved in a clear and direct opposition. We cannot give a better example of this sort of Epitaph, than that on the tomb of Mr. Pulteney, in the cloysters of Westminster-Abbey.
If thou art a BRITON,
Here lie the Remains of
He exercised Virtues in this Age,
Sagacious by Nature,
Inquifitive with Art;
Foreign and domeftic.
He serv'd the Court several Years :
He served his Country always,
At Court independent,
In the Senate unbiass'd,
Public Men, and Public Things,
The true Interest of Britain :
He abhorred all other :.
Firm, determin'd, inflexible,
Is a public Calamity.
That poignant fatire, as well as extravagant praise, may be conveyed in this manner, will be seen by the following Epitaph written by Dr. Arbuthnot on Francis Chartres, which
is too well known, and too much admired, to need our commendation,
Here continueth to rot
Excepting PRODIGALITY and HYPOCRISY : His insatiable Avarice exempted him from the first, His matchless IMPUDENCE from the second.
Nor was he more fingular
In Accumulating Wealth:
Without TRUST of Public Money,
A MINISTERIAL ESTATB.
He was the only person of his Time
Retain his Primæval MEANNESS
Oh Indignant Reader !
To give to After-ages
in the Sight of GOD, By his bestowing it on the most UNWORTHY of ALL
This sort of Epitaph may also admit of humour and ridicule, as will appear by the following on a boon companion who is supposed to have lost his life to obtain his friend a borough,
An EPITAPH on Mr. Dove, an Apothecary; who unfortunately murdered bimself by canvassing at Elections.
The remains of Benjamin Dove,
Doctor, and dealer in politics ;
not to the sword, but to the glass.
A kind and steady friend,
A warm patriot,
A cutter of jokes,
Disdain'd every bribe ;
Induce him once to play
The part of a Jack-of-both fides ;
And aided by the arms of Bacchus,
For which he died.
He was a good Christian in his day,
A man of Virtue,
Some faults he had,
Or that his enemies can remember.