Filled 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;

IO

Such this man was; who now, from earth removed, At length enjoys that liberty he loved.

III. 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, gave his father grief but when he died.

Or

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!

IV.-ON JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ.

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

JACOBUS CRAGGS,

REGI MAGNE BRITANNIE 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 sincere,
In action faithful, and in honour clear!

Who broke no promise, served no private end;
Who gained no title, and who lost no friend;
Ennobled by himself, by all approved;

Praised, wept, and honoured, by the muse he loved.

V.—INTENDED FOR MR. ROWE,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

THY relics, Rowe, to this fair urn we trust,
And sacred, place by Dryden's awful dust :
Beneath a rude1 and nameless stone he lies,
To which thy tomb shall guide inquiring eyes.

VI. ON MRS. CORBET,

Whe 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. 13

VII. 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:

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 now upon it, being only the name of that great poet.

J. DRYDEN.

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

JOANNES SHEFFIELD DUX BUCKINGHAMIENSIS POSUIT.

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 moral 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!

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, 1723.1

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.

ΙΟ

20

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.

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 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.

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,

ΙΟ

Whom Heaven kept sacred from the proud and great:

Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease,

Content with science in the value of peace.
Calmly he looked on either life, and here

Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear;
From nature's temperate 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 tempering 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.

XII. 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.

XIII.-ON DR. FRANCIS ATTERBURY,
BISHOP OF ROCHESTER,

ΙΟ

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!

O more than fortune, friends, or country lost!