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On General HENRY WITHERS, In Westminster-Abbey, 1729.

ERE, WITHERS, reft! thou bravest, gentlest mind,

Oh born to Arms! O Worth in Youth approv'd!
O foft Humanity, in Age belov'd!

For thee, the hardy Veteran drops a tear,
And the gay Courtier feels the figh fincere.

WITHERS, adieu! yet not with thee remove
Thy Martial spirit, or thy Social love!
Amidft Corruption, Luxury, and Rage,
Still leave fome ancient Virtues to our age:
Nor let us fay (thofe English glories gone)
The laft true Briton lies beneath this ftone.


On Mr. ELIJAH FENTON, At Easthamfted, in Berks, 1730.

HIS modeft Stone, what few vain Marbles can, May truly fay, Here lies an honeft Man: A Poet, bleft beyond the Poet's fate,


Whom Heaven kept facred from the Proud and Great: Foe to loud Praife, and Friend to learned Ease, Content with Science in the Vale of Peace,

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Calmly he look'd on either Life, and here
Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear;
From Nature's temperate feast rose fatisfy'd,
Thank'd Heaven that he had liv'd, and that he dy'd.


On Mr. GAY,

In Westminster-Abbey, 1732.


F 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, ev'n among the Great:
A fafe Companion, and an eafy Friend,
Unblam'd through Life, lamented in thy End.
These are Thy Honours! not that here thy Bust
Is mix'd with Heroes, or with Kings thy duft;
But that the Worthy and the Good shall say,
Striking their penfive bofoms-Here lies GAY.


WELL then! poor Gay lies under ground,

So there's an end of honeft Jack:

So little justice here he found,

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




Intended for Sir ISAAC NEWTON,

In Westminster-Abbey.

Quem Immortalem

Teftantur Tempus, Natura, Cœlum:

Hoc marmor fatetur.

Nature and Nature's Laws lay hid in Night:
GOD faid, Let Newton be! and all was Light.


On Dr. FRANCIS ATTERBURY, Bishop of Rochester,

Who died in Exile at Paris, 1732.

[His only Daughter having expired in his arms, immediately after the arrived in France to see him.]



ES, we have liv'd-one pang, and then we part!

Yet ah! how once we lov'd, remember still,
Till you are duft like me.



Dear Shade! I will:

Then mix this dust with thine-O spotless Ghost!
O more than Fortune, Friends, or Country loft!
Is there on Earth, one care, one wifh befide?
—He faid, and dy’d.


On EDMOND Duke of BUCKINGHAM, Who died in the Nineteenth Year of his Age, 1735.

F modeft Youth, with cool Reflection crown'd,

Could fave a Parent's jufteft Pride from fate,
Or add one Patriot to a finking State;
This weeping marble had not afk'd thy Tear,
Or fadly told, how many hopes lie here!
The living Virtue now had fhone approv'd,
The Senate heard him, and his Country lov'd.
Yet fofter Honours, and lefs noisy Fame
Attend the shade of gentle BUCKINGHAM:
In whom a Race, for Courage fam'd and Art,
Ends in the milder Merit of the Heart;
And, Chiefs or Sages long to Britain given,
Pays the last Tribute of a Saint to Heaven.

XV. For

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For one who would not be buried in Westminster-Abbey.

EROES and KINGS! your distance keep;
peace let one poor Poet sleep,



Who never flatter'd Folks like you:

Let Horace blush, and Virgil too.

Another, on the fame.


DER 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 fhall lay o'er my head,
Lies one who ne'er car'd, and still cares not a pin
What they faid, or may fay, of the Mortal within :
But who, living and dying, ferene ftill and free,
Trufts in GoD, that as well as he was, he fhall be.



ERE lies Lord Coningsby-be civil;

does the Devil.

This Epitaph, originally written on Picus Mirandula, is applied to F. Chartres, and printed among the works of Swift. See Hawkefworth edition, vol. vi. S.


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