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Yet foft his Nature, tho' fevere his Lay,

gay.

His Anger moral, and his Wifdom
Bleft Sat'rift! who touch'd the Mean fo true,
As show'd, Vice had his hate and pity too.
Bleft Courtier! who could King and Country please,
Yet facred keep his Friendships, and his Ease.
Bleft Peer! his great Forefathers ev'ry grace
Reflecting, and reflected in his Race;

Where other BUCKHURSTS, other DORSETS fhine,
And Patriots ftill, or Poets, deck the Line.

NOTES.

For random praise the Work would ne'er be done :
Each Mother afks it for her bosby Son:
Each Widow afks it for the best of Men;
For him fhe weeps, for him the weds again.

Yet when thefe elegiac movements came freely from the heart, he mourns in fuch trains as fhew he was equally a master of this kind of Compofition with every other he undertook, as the following lines in the Epiffle to Jervas may witness; which would have made the finest Epitaph in the world:

Call round her Tomb each object of defire,
Each purer frame inform'd with purer fire:
Bid her be all that chears or foftens life,
The tender fifter, daughter, friend, and wife:
Bid her be all that makes mankind adore;
Then view this marble, and be vain no more.

II.

On Sir WILLIAM TRUMBAL,

One of the Principal Secretaries of State to King WILLIAM III. who having refigned his Place, died in his Retirement at Eafthamfted in Berkshire, 1716.

A

Pleafing Form; a firm yet cautious Mind;

Sincere, tho' prudent; conftant, yet refign'd:
Honour unchang'd, a Principle profest,
Fix'd to one fide, but mod'rate to the reft:
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 gen'rous Faith, from fuperftition free;
A love to Peace, and hate of Tyranny;

Such this Man was; who now from earth remov'd,
At length enjoys that Liberty he lov'd.

III.

On the Hon. SIMON HARCOURt,

Only Son of the Lord Chancellor HARCOURT; at the Church of StantonHarcourt in Oxfordshire, 1720.

O this fad fhrine, whoc'er thou art! draw

near,

Here lies the Friend moft lov'd, the Son moft dear: Who ne'er knew Joy, but friendship might divide, his Father Grief but when he dy'd.

Or

gave

How vain is Reason, Eloquence how weak! If Pope must tell what HARCOURT cannot speak. Oh let thy once-lov'd Friend infcribe thy Stone, And, with a Father's forrows, mix his own!

IV.

On JAMES CRAGGS, Efq.

In Westminster-Abbey.

JACOBUS CRAGGS

REGI MAGNÆ BRITANNIA A SECRETIS

ET CONSILIIS SANCTIORIBUS,

PRINCIPIS PARITER AC POPULI AMOR ET DELICIÆ: VIXIT TITULIS ET INVIDIA MAJOR

ANNOS, HEU PAUCOS, XXXV.

OB. FEB. XVI. MDCCXX.

Statesman, yet Friend to Truth! of Soul fincere, In Action faithful, and in Honour clear!

Who broke no Promife, ferv'd no private End, Who gain'd no Title, and who loft no Friend, Ennobled by Himfelf, by All approv'd,

Prais'd, wept, and honour'd, by the Mufe he lov'd.

V.

Intended for Mr. Row E,

TH

In Westminster-Abbey.

'HY reliques, Rowe, to this fair Urn we
truft,

And facred, place by DRYDEN's awful dust :
Beneath a rude and namclefs ftone he lies,
To which thy Tomb fhall guide inquiring eyes.

VARIATIONS.

It is as follows, on the Monument in the Abbey erected to
RowE and his Daughter.

Thy Reliques, RowE! to this fad fhrine we truft,
And near thy SHAKESPEAR place thy honour'd buft.
Oh, next him, fkill'd to draw the tender tear,
For never heart felt paffion more fincere ;
To nobler fentiment to fire the brave,
For never BRITON more difdain'd a flave.
Peace to thy gentle fhade, and endless reft;
Bleft in thy genius, in thy love too bleft!
And bleft, that timely from our scene remov'd,
Thy foul enjoys the liberty it lov'd.

To the fe fo mourn'd in death, fo lov'd in life!
The childless parent and the widow'd wife,
With tears infcribes this monumental stone,
That holds their afhes and expects her own.

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