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Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies,
To which thy tomb shall guide inquiring eyes.
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest!
Blest in thy genius, in thy love too blest!
One grateful woman to thy fame supplies
What a whole thankless land to his denies.

VI.

ON MRS CORBET,

WHO DIED OF A CANCER IN HER BREAST.

HERE rests a woman, good without pretence,
Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense;
No conquest she, but o'er herself, desired,
No arts essay'd, but not to be admired.
Passion and pride were to her soul unknown,
Convinced that virtue only is our own.
So unaffected, so composed a mind;
So firm, yet soft; so strong, yet so refined;
Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures tried!
The saint sustain'd it,—but the woman died.

VII.

ON THE MONUMENT OF THE HON. ROBERT DIGBY, AND OF HIS SISTER MARY.

ERECTED BY THEIR FATHER, LORD DIGBY, IN THE CHURCH OF
SHERBORNE, IN DORSETSHIRE, 1727.

Go! fair example of untainted youth,
Of modest wisdom and pacific truth:
Composed 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 human kind:
Go live! for Heaven's eternal year is thine,
Go, and exalt thy mortal to divine.

And thou, blest maid! attendant on his doom,
Pensive hast 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!

VIII.

ON SIR GODFREY KNELLER,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1723.

KNELLER, by Heaven 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.

IX.

ON THE HON. SIMON HARCOURT,

ONLY SON OF THE LORD CHANCELLOR HARCOURT; AT THE CHURCH
OF STANTON-HARCOURT, IN OXFORDSHIRE, 1720.

To this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art! draw near,
Here lies the friend most loved, the son most dear:
Who ne'er knew joy, but friendship might divide,
Or gave his father grief but when he died.

How vain is reason, eloquence how weak!
If Pope must tell what HARCOURT cannot speak.
Oh let thy once-loved friend inscribe thy stone,
And, with a father's sorrows, mix his own!

X.

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 approved,
The senate heard him, and his country loved.
Yet softer honours and less noisy fame
Attend the shade of gentle BUCKINGHAM:
In whom a race, for courage famed and art,
Ends in a milder merit of the heart;
And chiefs or sages long to Britain given,
Pays the last tribute of a saint to heaven.

XI.

FOR ONE WHO WOULD NOT BE BURIED IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

HEROES and KINGS! your distance keep:

In peace let one poor poet sleep,

Who never flatter'd folks like you:

Let Horace blush, and Virgil too.

XII.

THE SAME.

UNDER this marble, or under this sill,
Or under this turf, or e'en what they will;
Whatever an heir, or a friend in his stead,
Or any good creature shall lay o'er my head,
Lies one who ne'er cared, and still cares not a pin
What they said, or may say, of the mortal within:
But, who living and dying, serene still and free,
Trusts in GOD, that as well as he was, he shall be.

XII.

ON MR ELIJAH FENTON,

AT EASTHAMSTED, IN BIRKS, 1730.

THIS modest stone, what few vain marbles can,
May truly say,-Here lies an honest man:

A poet, blest 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 Heaven that he had lived, and that he died.

XIV.

ON MR GAY,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1722.

Or 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 even among the great:
A safe companion, and an easy friend,
Unblamed 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.

XV.

INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

ISAACUS NEWTONUS:
Quem Immortalem

Testantur Tempus, Natura, Cœlum :
Mortalem

Hoc marmor fatetur.

Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night:
God said, Let Newton be! and all was light.

XVI.

ON DR FRANCIS ATTERBURY,

BISHOP OF ROCHESTER,

WHO DIED IN EXILE AT PARIS, 1732, (HIS ONLY DAUGHTER HAVING EXPIRED IN HIS ARMS IMMEDIATELY AFTER SHE ARRIVED IN FRANCE TO SEE HIM.)

DIALOGUE.

SHE.

YES, we have lived-one pang, and then we part!
May Heaven, dear father! now have all thy heart.

Yet, ah! how once we loved, remember still,
Till you are dust like me.

HE.

Dear shade! I will:

Then mix this dust with thine-O spotless ghost!
Oh more than fortune, friends, or country lost!
Is there on earth one care, one wish beside?
Yes-SAVE MY COUNTRY, HEAVEN,

-He said, and died.

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