If you will fly-(yet ah! what cause can be,
Too cruel youth, that you should fly from me?)
If not from Phaon I must hope for ease,
Ah, let me seek it from the raging seas:
To raging seas unpitied I'll remove,
And either cease to live or cease to love!
IN THE CHURCH OF WITHYAM IN SUSSEX.
DORSET, the grace of courts, the Muses' pride,
Patron of arts, and judge of nature, died.
The scourge of pride, though sanctified or great,
Of fops in learning, and of knaves in state:
Yet soft his nature, though severe his lay,
His anger moral, and his wisdom gay.
Blest satirist! who touch'd the mean so true,
As shew'd vice had his hate and pity too.
Blest courtier! who could king and country please,
Yet sacred keep his friendships and his ease.
Blest peer! his great forefathers' every grace
Reflecting, and reflected in his race;
Where other BUCKHURSTS, other DORSETS shine,
And patriots still, or poets, deck the line.
ONE OF THE PRINCIPAL SECRETARIES OF STATE TO
WILLIAM III., WHO HAVING RESIGNED HIS PLACE, DIED IN
HIS RETIREMENT AT EASTHAMSTED, IN BERKSHIRE, 1716.
A PLEASING form; a firm, yet cautious mind;
Sincere, though prudent; constant, yet resign'd:
Honour unchanged, a principle profest,
Fix'd to one side, but moderate to the rest:
An honest courtier, yet a patriot too;
Just to his prince, and to his country true:
Fill'd with the sense of age, the fire of youth,
A scorn of wrangling, yet a zeal for truth:
A generous faith, from superstition free;
A love to peace, and hate of tyranny:
Such this man was; who now, from earth removed,
At length enjoys that liberty he loved.
ON GENERAL HENRY WITHERS,
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1729.
HERE, WITHERS, rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind,
Thy country's friend, but more of human kind.
O born to arms! O worth in youth approved!
O soft humanity, in age beloved!
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 JAMES CRAGGS, Esq.,
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
STATESMAN, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,
In action faithful, and in honour clear !
Who broke no promise, served no private end,
Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend;
Ennobled by himself, by all approved,
Praised, wept, and honour'd, by the muse he loved.
INTENDED FOR MR ROWE,
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.
THY reliques, Rowe, to this fair urn we trust,
And sacred, place by DRYDEN's awful dust :
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