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Intended for Mr. Rowe 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 blest 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,
On the monument of the Hon. Robert Digby, and of
his sister Mary, erected by their father the Lord Digby, in the Church of Sherborne in Dorsetshire, 1727.
Go! fair example of untainted youth,
And thou, bless'd maid! attendant on his doom,
Yet take these tears, mortality's relief,
VIII. On Sir Godfrey Kneller, in Westminster Abbey,
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. 8
On General Henry Withers in Westminster-Abbey,
HERE, Withers ! rest; thou bravest, gentlest mind, Thy country's friend, but more of human-kind. Oh born to arms! O worth in youth approv'd! O soft humanity, in age belov’d; For thee the hardy vet’ran drops a tear, And the gay courtier feels the sigh sincere. 6
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. 12