One grateful woman to thy fame supplies
What a whole thankless land to his denies.1

II.

ON ROWE.

He altered it much for the better as it now stands in the abbey on the monument erected to Rowe and his daughter.

THY reliques, Rowe, to this sad shrine we trust
And near thy Shakespeare place thy honoured bust.
Oh, next him, skilled to draw the tender tear
For never heart felt passion more sincere,
To nobler sentiment to fire the brave,
For never Briton more disdained a slave.
Peace to thy gentle shade and endless rest.
Blest in thy genius, in thy love too blest!
And blest, that timely from our seal removed
Thy soul enjoys the liberty it loved.

To these so mourned in death, so loved in life
The childless parent and the widowed wife
With tears inscribes this monumental stone
That holds their ashes and expects her own.

1 The tomb of Mr. Dryden was erected upon this hint by the Duke of Buckingham; to which was originally intended this epitaph,

This Sheffield raised. The sacred dust below

Was Dryden once. The rest who does not know?

which the author since changed into the plain inscription row upon it, being only the name of the great poet.

J. DRYDEN.

Natus Aug. 9, 1631. Mortuus Maij 1, 1700.

JOANNES SHEFFIELD DUX BUCKINGHAMIENSIS POSUIT.-Pope,

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 conquests she, but o'er herself, desired,
No arts essayed, 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 sustained it, but the woman died.

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

MARY.

ERECTED BY THEIR FATHER, THE LORD DIGBY,

In the Church of Sherborne in Dorsetshire, 1727.

Go! fair example of untainted youth,
Of modest wisdom, and pacific truth.
Composed in suff'rings, and in joy sedate,
Good without noise, without pretension great.
Just of thy word, in ev'ry 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 heav'n's eternal year is thine,
Go, and exalt thy Mortal to Divine.

And thou, blest Maid! attendant on his doom,' Pensive hast followed to the silent tomb,

Steered 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!

1 Mr. Digby died of consumption, and was followed by the affectionate sister who had hung over his sick bed,—Bowles,

Yet take these tears, morality'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, 1723.1

KNELLER, by heaven, and not a master, taught,
Whose art was Nature, and whose pictures Thought;
Now for two ages having snatched from fate
Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great,
Lies crowned with princes' honours, poets' lays,
Due to his merit, and brave thirst of praise.

Living, great Nature feared he might outvie
Her works; and dying, fears herself may die.

IX.-ON GENERAL HENRY WITHERS.

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1729.

HERE, Withers, rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind,
Thy country's friend, but more of human kind.
Oh born to arms! O worth in youth approved!
O soft humanity, in age beloved!

For thee the hardy vet'ran 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 leaves some ancient virtues to our age:
Nor let us say (those English glories gone)
The last true Briton lies beneath this stone.

1 Pope had made Sir Godfrey Kneller, on his death-bed, a promise to write his epitaph, which he seems to have performed with reluctance. He thought it "the worst thing he ever wrote in his life, (Spence.)-Roscoe,

X-ON MR. ELIJAH FENTON,'

AT EASTHAMSTEAD IN BERKS, 1730.

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

A poet, blessed beyond the poet's fate,
Whom Heaven kept sacred from the proud and great;
Foe to loud praise, and friend to learnèd ease,
Content with science in the Vale of Peace.
Calmly he looked on either life, and here

Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear;

From nature's temp'rate feast rose satisfied, Thanked heaven that he had lived, and that he died.

XI-ON MR. GAY,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1732.

Or manners gentle, of affection mild;
In wit, a man; simplicity, a child:

With native humour temp'ring virtuous rage,
Formed 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 mixed with heroes, or with kings thy dust;
But that the worthy and the good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosoms-Here lies Gay.

ANOTHER.

WELL then poor Gay lies under ground,
So there's an end of honest Jack;

So little justice here he found

"Tis ten to one he'll ne'er come back.

1 A poet of no mean acquirements; he translated part of the Odys

sey for Pope, who only did the first twelve books himself.

od said, "Let Newton be!" and all was light.

XIII.-ON DR. FRANCIS ATTERBURY,

BISHOP OF ROCHESTER,

ho died in exile at Paris, 1732, (his only daughter having expired n his arms, immediately after she arrived in France to see him.)

DIALOGUE.

SHE

Es, we have lived-one pang, and then we part! [ay Heav'n, dear father! now have all thy heart. et ah! how once we loved, remember still,

ill you are dust like me.

HE.

Dear shade! I will:

hen mix this dust with thine-O spotless ghost! more than fortune, friends, or country lost! s there on earth one care, one wish beside?

es- Save my country, Heaven!

He said, and died.

IV.-ON EDMUND DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, Who died in the nineteenth year of his age, 1735.

IF modest youth, with cool reflection crowned, And every op'ning virtue blooming round, Could save a parent's justest pride from fate,

He was born on the very day that Galileo died,