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Come, virgins, ere in equal bands ye join,
Come first, and offer at her sacred shrine;
Pray but for half the virtues of this wife,
Compound for all the rest, with longer life;
And wish your vows, like hers, may be return'd,
So loved when living, and when dead so mourn'd.

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X.

EPITAPH ON SIR PALMES FAIRBONE'S TOMB
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

SACRED TO THE IMMORTAL MEMORY OF SIR PALMES FAIRBONE, KNIGHT, GOVERNOR OF TANGIER; IN EXECUTION OF WHICH COMMAND, HE WAS MORTALLY WOUNDED BY A SHOT FROM THE MOORS, THEN BESIEGING THE TOWN, IN THE FORTYSIXTH YEAR OF HIS AGE. OCTOBER 24, 1680.

YE sacred relics, which your marble keep,
Here, undisturb'd by wars, in quiet sleep:
Discharge the trust, which, when it was below,
Fairbone's undaunted soul did undergo,
And be the town's Palladium from the foe.
Alive and dead these walls he will defend :
Great actions great examples must attend.

The Candian siege his early valour knew,

Where Turkish blood did his young hands imbrue.

From thence returning with deserved applause,
Against the Moors his well-flesh'd sword he draws;
The same the courage, and the same the cause.

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sanghoa, and all divine. * Are A virtues shone more bright, fames expanding in their height; e margins Glory crown'd the soldier's fight. We dravely British general never fell, Nor general's death was e'er revenged so well; Which his pleased eyes beheld before their close, Flowd by thousand victims of his foes. To his lamented loss for time to come His pious widow consecrates this tomb.

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XI.

UNDER MR MILTON'S PICTURE, BEFORE HIS PARADISE LOST.1

THREE Poets, in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn.
The first, in loftiness of thought surpass'd;
The next, in majesty; in both the last.
The force of nature could no farther go;
To make a third, she join'd the former two.

1 In Tonson's folio edition.

...

XII.

ON THE MONUMENT OF A FAIR MAIDEN LADY1, WHO DIED AT BATH, AND IS THERE INTERRED.

BELOW this marble monument is laid

All that heaven wants of this celestial maid.
Preserve, O sacred tomb! thy trust consign'd;
The mould was made on purpose for the mind:
And she would lose, if, at the latter day,
One atom could be mix'd of other clay.
Such were the features of her heavenly face,
Her limbs were form'd with such harmonious grace:
So faultless was the frame, as if the whole
Had been an emanation of the soul:
Which her own inward symmetry reveal'd;
And like a picture shone, in glass anneal'd.
Or like the sun eclipsed, with shaded light:
Too piercing, else, to be sustain'd by sight.
Each thought was visible that roll'd within:
As through a crystal case the figured hours are seen.
And Heaven did this transparent veil provide,
Because she had no guilty thought to hide.
All white, a virgin-saint, she sought the skies:
For marriage, though it sullies not, it dyes.
High though her wit, yet humble was her mind;
As if she could not, or she would not find
How much her worth transcended all her kind.
Yet she had learn'd so much of heaven below,
That, when arrived, she scarce had more to know:

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This Lady is interred in the Abbey-church. Her name was Mary Frampton. She died in 1698.

His youth and age, his life and death, combine,
As in some great and regular design,

All of a piece throughout, and all divine.
Still nearer heaven his virtues shone more bright,
Like rising flames expanding in their height;
The martyr's glory crown'd the soldier's fight.
More bravely British general never fell,
Nor general's death was e'er revenged so well;
Which his pleased eyes beheld before their close,
Follow'd by thousand victims of his foes.
To his lamented loss for time to come
His pious widow consecrates this tomb.

20

XI.

UNDER MR MILTON'S PICTURE, BEFORE HIS PARADISE LOST.1

THREE Poets, in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England, did adorn.
The first, in loftiness of thought surpass'd;
The next, in majesty; in both the last.
The force of nature could no farther go;
To make a third, she join'd the former two.

1 In Tonson's folio edition.

...

XII.

ON THE MONUMENT OF A FAIR MAIDEN LADY1, WHO DIED AT BATH, AND IS THERE INTERRED.

BELOW this marble monument is laid

All that heaven wants of this celestial maid.
Preserve, O sacred tomb! thy trust consign'd;
The mould was made on purpose for the mind:
And she would lose, if, at the latter day,
One atom could be mix'd of other clay.
Such were the features of her heavenly face,
Her limbs were form'd with such harmonious grace:
So faultless was the frame, as if the whole
Had been an emanation of the soul:
Which her own inward symmetry reveal'd;
And like a picture shone, in glass anneal❜d.
Or like the sun eclipsed, with shaded light:
Too piercing, else, to be sustain'd by sight.
Each thought was visible that roll'd within:
As through a crystal case the figured hours are seen.
And Heaven did this transparent veil provide,
Because she had no guilty thought to hide.
All white, a virgin-saint, she sought the skies:
For marriage, though it sullies not, it dyes.
High though her wit, yet humble was her mind;
As if she could not, or she would not find
How much her worth transcended all her kind.
Yet she had learn'd so much of heaven below,
That, when arrived, she scarce had more to know:

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20%

This Lady is interred in the Abbey-church. Her name was Mary Frampton. She died in 1698.

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