Reader

If thou art a Briton,

Behold this tomb with reverence and regret!
Here lie the remains of

DANIEL PULTENEY:

The kindest relation, the truest friend,
The warmest patriot, the worthiest man!
He exercised virtues in this age,

Sufficient to have distinguished him even in the best.

Sagacious by nature,
Industrious by habit,

Inquisitive with art.

He gained a complete knowledge of the state of
Britain, foreign and domestic;
In most the backward fruit of tedious experience,
In him the early acquisition of undissipated youth.
He served the Court several years;

Abroad in the auspicious reign of Queen Anne,
At home in the reign of that excellent Prince
George I.

He served his country always;

At court independent,

In the senate unbiassed.

At every age and in every

station

This was the bent of his generous soul,
This the business of his laborious life;

PUBLIC MEN AND PUBLIC THINGS.

He judged by one constant standard-
The true interest of Britain:

He made no other distinction of party ;
He abhorred all other.

Gentle, humane, disinterested, and beneficent,
He created no enemies on his own account;
Firm, determined, and inflexible,

He feared none he could create in the cause of Britain.

Reader!

In this misfortune of thy country, lament thine own;
For know,

The loss of so much private virtue,
Is a public calamity.

SACRED TO THE MEMORY OF

THE REVEREND JOHN THOMAS, L. L. D.

Bishop of Rochester,
Dean of this Collegiate Church,

And of the most honorable Order of the Bath.
Having passed through the school at Carlisle
With reputation, he proceeded to Oxford,
To gather a more abundant harvest of knowledge;
Where he became both the ornament and patron
Of genius, good morals, and of polite, as well as
Of profound learning.

With increasing fame every where spreading itself. He did honors to dignities by his merit, Improved riches by bestowing them, Presided over the church with wisdom, Defended it by his authority, Regulated it by his example;

Ever active in duties, and unwearied in attentions, Added to the strictest economy,

D

Till after a well spent life,
Himself exhausted, but not his patience,
By a long and painful illness
He resigned his soul to God, August 20, 1793.
Aged 81 years.

His Nephew,

G. A. T. A. M.

To whose lot it fell to perform it,
Offers this unavailing tribute as a testimony,
Though small,

Of duty and affection.

JOHN MILTON.

He was a great polemical and political writer, and Latin Secretary to Oliver Cromwell; but what have immortalized his name, are those two inimitable pieces, Paradise Lost and Regained. He was born at London in 1608, and died at Bunhill (perhaps the same as Bunhill fields) in 1674, leaving three daughters behind him unprovided for; and not long since a grand daughter of his was relieved by a benefit at the Theatre Royal in Drury Lane. In 1737, Mr. Auditor Benson erected this Monument to his memory.

Under Milton is an elegant Monument lately erected to the memory of Mr. Gray. This Monument seems expressive of the compliment contained in the following Epitaph, where the Lyric Muse, is holding a medallion of the Poet, and at the same time pointing the finger up to the bust, of Milton, which is directly over it :

No more the Grecian Muse unrivall'd reigns;
To Britain let the nation's homage pay,
She felt a Homer's fire in Milton's strains,
A Pindar's rapture in the lyre of Gray.
Died July 30, 1771, aged 54.

ΤΟ THE MEMORY OF

FRANCIS HOLLIS,

By John Earl of Clare, his afflicted father.

This brave youth, after returning from making a campaign in Flanders, died August 12, 1662, aged 18.

What though thou hast of nature or of arts,
Youth, beauty, strength, or what excelling parts,
Of mind and body, letters, arms and worth,
His eighteen years, beyond his years, brought forth;
Then stand and read thyself within this glass,
How soon these perish, and thyself may pass ;
Man's life is measur'd by the work, not days,
No aged sloth; but active youth hath praise.

ON SIR RICHARD PECKFALL, KNT.

Master of the buck hounds to Queen Elizabeth.

Death can't disjoin whom Christ hath join'd in love, Life leads to death, and death to life, above.

In heaven's a happier place; frail things despise,
Live well to gain in future life a prize.

ON JOHN LORD RUSSEL,

Son and heir to Francis, Earl of Bedford.

BY HIS LADY.

Right noble twice by virtue and by birth,
Of heaven lov'd and honour'd on the earth,
His country's hope, his kindred's chief delight,
My husband dear more than this world's light,
Death hath me reft. But I from him will take
His memory, to whom this tomb I make.

John was his name (ah! was) wretch must I say?
Lord Russel once, now my tear thirsting clay.

TO THE MEMORY OF

CATHERINE LADY WALPOLE,

Eldest daughter of John Shorter, Esq. of
Bybrook, in Kent, and first wife of
Sir Robert Walpole, afterwards Earl of Orford,
Horace, her youngest son consecrated
This Monument.

She had beauty and wit, without vice or vanity, And cultivated the arts without affectation, She was devout, though without bigotry to any sect And was without prejudice to any party; Tho' the wife of a minister whose power she esteemed When she could employ it to benefit the Miserable, or to reward the meritorious.