Ennobled by Himself, by all approv'd,
Prais'd, wept, and honour'd, by the Muse he lov'd.
Intended for Mr. ROWE,
In Westminster-Abbey.
HY reliques, ROWE, to this fair Urn we trust,
And facred, place by Dryden's awful dust:
Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies,
To which thy Tomb shall guide inquiring eyes.
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest!
Bleft in thy Genius, in thy Love too blest!
One grateful woman to thy fame supplies
What a whole thankless land to his denies.
It is as follows on the Monument in the Abbey erected to Rowe and his Daughter.
Thy Reliques, ROWE! to this sad shrine we trust,
And near thy Shakespeare place thy honour'd bust,
Oh, next him, skill'd to draw the tender tear,
For never heart felt paffion more fincere;
To nobler fentiment to fire the brave,
For never Briton more disdain'd a flave.
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless reft;
Blest in thy genius, in thy love too blest!
And blest, that, timely from our scene remov'd,
Thy foul enjoys the liberty it lov'd.
To these so mourn'd in death, so lov'd in life;
The childless parent and the widow'd wife,
With tears inscribes this monumental stone,
That holds their ashes and expects her own.
On Mrs. CORBET,
Who died of a Cancer in her Breaft.
a Woman, good without pretence, Bleft with plain Reason, and with fober Sense:
No Conquests she, but o'er herself, defir'd,
No Arts essay'd, but not to be admir'd.
Paffion and Pride were to her Soul unknown,
Convinc'd that Virtue only is our own.
So unaffected, fo compos'd a mind;
So firm, yet foft; so strong, yet so refin'd;
Heaven, as its purest gold, by Tortures try'd;
The Saint sustain'd it, but the Woman dy'd.
On the Monument of the Honourable ROBERT DIGBY, and of his Sifter MARY, erected by their Father the LORD DIGBY, in the Church of Sherborne, in Dor-fetthire, 1727.
O! fair Example of untainted youth,
Of modeft wisdom, and pacific truth;
Compos'd in fufferings, and in joy fedate,
Good without noise, without pretenfion great.
Juft of thy word, in every thought fincere,
Who knew no wish but what the world might hear:
Of foftest 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,
Penfive haft follow'd to the filent tomb,
Steer'd the fame 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!
In Westminster-Abbey, 1723.
NELLER, by Heaven, and not a
Whose Art was Nature, and whose Pictures
Thought;
Now for two ages having snatch'd from Fate
Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great,
Lies crown'd with Princes honours, Poets lays,
Due to his Merit, and brave Thirst of praise.
Living, great Nature fear'd he might outvie
Her works; and, dying, fears herself may die.
On General HENRY WITHERS,
In Westminster-Abbey, 1729.
ERE, WITHERS, rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind,
Thy Country's friend, but more of human-kind.
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!
Amidst Corruption, Luxury, and Rage,
Still leave fome ancient Virtues to our age:
Nor let us say (those English glories gone)
The last true Briton lies beneath this stone.
At Easthamsted, in Berks, 1730.
HIS modeft Stone, what few vain Marbles can,
May truly fay, Here lies an honest Man:
A Poet, blest beyond the Poet's fate,
Whom Heaven kept sacred from the Proud and Great: Foe to loud Praise, and Friend to learned Eafe, Content with Science in the Vale of Peace,
Calmly he look'd on either Life, and here
Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear;
From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfy'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 easy 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 bosoms-Here lies GAY.
ELL 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.
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