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ON SIR WILLIAM TRUMBALL,
One of the principal Secretaries of State to King William the Third, who, having resigned his Place, died in his Retirement at Easthamsted, in Berkshire, 1716.
A PLEASING form; a firm, yet cautious
Sincere, though prudent; constant, yet resign'd; Honour unchang'd, a principle profest,
Fix'd to one side, but mod'rate to the rest:
An honest courtier, yet a patriot too ;
Just to his prince, and to his country true:
Fill'd with the sense of age, the fire of youth,
A scorn of wrangling, yet a zeal for truth:
A gen'rous faith, from superstition free;
A love to peace, and hate of tyranny:
Such this mau was; who now from earth remov'd,
At length enjoys that liberty he lov'd.
ON THE HON. SIMON HARCOURT,
Only Son of the Lord Chancellor Harcourt, at the Church of Stanton-Harcourt, in Oxfordshire, 1720.
this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art, draw near;
Here lies the friend most lov'd, the son most dear;
Who ne'er knew joy but friendship might divide,
Or gave his father grief but when he died.
How vain is reason, eloquence how weak!
If Pope must tell what Harcourt cannot speak.
Oh let thy once-lov'd friend inscribe thy stone,
And with a father's sorrows mix his own!
ON JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ.
In Westminster Abbey.
REGI MAGNE BRITANNIE A SECRETIS ET CONSILIIS SANCTIORIBUS, PRINCIPIS PARITER AC POPULI AMOR ET DELICIA,
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, serv'd no private end, Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend; 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.
THY reliques, Rowe, to this fair urn we trust,
And, sacred, 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!
Blest in thy genius, in thy love too blest!
One grateful woman to thy fame supplies
What a whole thankless land to his denies.
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, desir'd,
No arts essay'd, but not to be admir'd.
Passion and pride were to her soul unknown,
Convinc'd that virtue only is our own.
So unaffected, so compos'd a mind;
So firm, yet soft; so strong, yet so refin'd;
Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures tried;
The saint sustain'd it, but the woman died.
ON THE MONUMENT OF THE HONOURABLE ROBERT DIGBY,
1 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; .
Compos'd in sufferings, 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 heaven's eternal year is thine,
Go, and exalt thy moral to divine!
And thou, blest maid! attendant on his doom, Pensive hast follow'd to the silent tomb,
Steer'd 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!
ON SIR GODFREY KNELLER,
In Westminster Abbey, 1723.
NELLER, by heaven, and not a master, taught,
Whose art was nature, and whose pictures
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.
In Westminster Abbey, 1729. .:
HERE, Withers, rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind,
Thy country's friend, but more of human kind.
O born to arms! O worth in youth approv'd!
O soft humanity, in age belov'd!
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 leave some ancient virtues to our age:
Nor let us say (those English glories gone)
The last true Briton lies beneath this stone.
ON MR. ELIJAH FENTON,
At Easthamsted, in Berks, 1730.
THIS modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say,' 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 ease,
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 temp'rate feast rose satisfied,
Thank'd Heaven that he had liv'd, and that he died.
ON MR. GAY,
In Westminster Abbey, 1732.
F manners gentle, of affections mild;
In wit, a man; simplicity, a child:
With native humour temp'ring 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 safe companion, and an easy friend,
Unblam'd through life, lamented in thy end.
These are thy honours! not that here thy bust
1s mix'd with heroes, or with kings thy dust;