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The virtues of a private life
Exceed the glorious noise and strife,
Of battles won : in those we find
The solid interest of mankind.

Approv'd by all, and lov'd so well,
Though young, like fruit that is ripe, he fell..

EPITAPH on Colonel CHARLES CAVENDISH..

HERE

TERE lies Charles Ca'ndish': let the marble.

stone, That hides his ashes, make his, virtue known. Beauty and valour did his fort life grace ;, The grief and glory of his noble race! Early abroad he did the world survey, As if he knew he had not long to stay :. Saw what great Alexander in the East, And mighty Julius conquer'd in the West. Then, with a mind as great as theirs, he came To find at home occafion for his fame : Where dark confusion did the nations hide, And where the jufter was the weaker side. Two loyal brothers took their Sovereign's part,.. Employ'd their wealth, their courage, and their art:. The * elder did whole regiments afford; The younger brought his conduct and his sword.

a

William Earl of Devonshire..

Bord

Born to command, a leader he begun,
And on the rebels lasting honour won:
The Horse, instructed by their General's worth,
Still made the King victorious in the North :
Where Ca’ndith fought, the Royalists prevail'dį
Neither his courage nor his judgment faild:
The current of his victories found no stop,
Till Cromwell came, his party's chiefest prop,
Equal success had set these champions high,
And both resolv'd to conquer or to die:
Virtue with rage, fury with valour, ftrove;
But that must fall, which is decreed above!
Cromwell, with odds of number and of fate,
Remov'd this bulwark of the Church and State:
Which the sad issue of the war declar'd,
And made his task, to ruin both, less hard.
So when the bank neglected is o’erthrown,
The boundless torrent does the country drown.
Thus fell the young, the lovely, and the brave;
Strew bays and flowers upon his honour'd grave!

HE

EPITAPH ON THE LADY SEDLEY.

ERE lies the learned Savil's heir;

So early wife, and lasting fair!
That none, except her years they told,
Thought her a child, or thought her old.
All that her father knew, or got,
His art, his wealth, fell to her lot:
And the so well improv'd that stock,
Both of his linowledge and liis fierk;
N

T!C!

That Wit and Fortune, reconcil'd
In her, upon each other fmild.
While the to every well-taught mind
Was so propitiously inclin'd,
And gaye fueh title to her store,
That none, but th' ignorant, were poor.
The Muses daily found supplies,
Both from her hands and from her eyes;
Her bounty did at once engage,
And matchless beauty warm their rage.
Such was this dame in calmer days,
Her nation's ornament and praise !
But when a storm disturb'd our rest,
The port and refuge of th' oppreft.
This made her fortune understood,
And look'd on as some public good;
So that (her person and her state
Exempted from the common fate)
In all our civil fury she
Stood, like a sacred temple, free.
May here her monument stand so,
To credit this rude age! and show
To future times, that even we
Some patterns did of virtue fee :
And one sublime example had
Of good, among so many bad.

ЕРІТАРН, Ε Ρ Ι T A P. H, To be written under the Latin Inscription upon the

Tomb of the only Son of the Lord ANDOVER.

'T

a

'IS fit the English reader should be told,

In our own language, what this tomb does hold,
'Tis not a noble corpse alone does lie
Under this stone, but a whole family :
His parents' pious care, their name, their joy,
And all their hope, lies buried with this boy:
This lovely youth! for whom we all made moan,
That knew his worth, as he had been our own.

Had there been space, and years enough allow'd,
His courage, wit, and breeding to have show'd,
We had not found, in all the numerous roll
Of his fam'd ancestors, a greater soul:
His early virtues to that ancient stock
Gave as much honour as from thence he took.

Like buds appearing ere the froits are past,
To become man he made such fatal halte;
And to perfection labour'd so to climb,
Preventing Now experience and time;
That 'tis no wonder death our hopes beguild:
He's seldom old, that will not be a child.

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GRE

EPITAPH, UNFINISHED.
REAT soul! for whom death will no longer ftay,

But sends in haste to snatch our bliss away.
O cruel death! to those you take more kind,
Than to the wretched mortals left behind!
Here beauty, youth, and noble virtue Thin'd;
Free from the clouds of pride that made the mind.
Inspired verse may on this marble live,
But can no honour to thy alhes give.

'T.

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