Yet with becoming grief he bore his part, Such is my wifh, and fuch my prophesy. But, ah! with better hap, and bring a race MENAL CAS. Damon, behold yon breaking purple cloud; Hear'st thou not hymns and fongs divinely loud? There mounts Amyntas; the young cherubs play About their godlike mate, and fing him on his way. He cleaves the liquid air, behold he flies, And every moment gains upon the skies. The new-come guest admires th' ætherial ftate, The fapphire portal, and the golden gate; And now admitted in the fhining throng, He fhows the paffport which he brought along. His paffport is his innocence and grace, Well known to all the natives of the place. Now fing, ye joyful angels, and admire } Your brother's voice that comes to mend your quire : Sing you, while endless tears our eyes bestow; For like Amyntas none is left below. On VI. On the Death of a very young Gentleman. HE who could view the book of destiny, And read whatever there was writ of thee, Such wit, fuch modefty, fuch ftrength of mind, Would wonder, when he turn'd the volume o'er, We must not, dare not think, that heaven began 'Tis 'Tis fin produces death; and he had none He added not, he was fo pure, fo good, More clear than the corrupted fount began. As fuch we lov'd, admir'd, almost ador'd, Thus was the crime not his, but ours alone: }. Upon VII. Upon young Mr. ROGERS of Gloucestershire. OF Their lafting forrow, and their vanifh'd pleasure, Adorn'd with features, virtues, wit, and grace, A large provision for so short a race; More moderate gifts might have prolong'd his date, But, knowing heaven his home, to fhun delay, VIII. On the DEATH of Mr. PURCELL. MA Set to Mufic by Dr. BLow. I. ARK how the lark and linnet fing: They ftrain their warbling throats, To welcome in the fpring. But in the clofe of night, When Philomel begins her heavenly lay, They cease their mutual fpite, Drink in her mufic with delight, And liftening filently obey. II. So ceas'd the rival crew, when Purcell came; Struck Struck dumb, they all admir'd the godlike man: The godlike man, Alas! too foon retir'd, As he too late began. We beg not hell our Orpheus to restore : Had he been there, Their fovereign's fear Had fent him back before. The power of harmony too well they knew: III. The heavenly choir, who heard his notes from high, Let down the scale of music from the sky: They handed him along, And all the way he taught, and all the way they fung. F IX. EPITAPH on the Lady WHITMORE. AIR, kind, and true, a treasure each alone, A wife, a mistress, and a friend in one, Reft in this tomb, rais'd at thy husband's coft, Here fadly fumming, what he had, and loft. O 2 1 Come, |