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On MARY Countess Dowager of PEMBROKE.
Underneath this marble hearfe,
Lies the fubject of all verse,
Sidney's fifter, Pembroke's mother:
Death, ere thou haft kill'd another
Fair, and learn'd, and good as the,

Time fhall throw a dart at thee.

Take another Epitaph of Ben Johnson's, on a beautiful and virtuous lady, which has been deservedly admired by very good judges.

Underneath this ftone doth lie

As much virtue as could die;
Which when alive did vigour give
To as much beauty as could live.

Mr. Pope has drawn the character of Mr. Gay, in an Epitaph now to be feen on his monument in WestminsterAbbey, which he has closed with such a beautiful turn, that I cannot help looking upon it as a master-piece in its kind, as indeed are most of the productions of that furprifing genius.

On Mr. GAY.

Of manners gentle, of affections mild;
In wit, a man; fimplicity, a child:

age:

With native humour temp'ring virtuous rage,
Form'd to delight at once, and lath the
Above temptation in a low estate,
And uncorrupted, ev'n among the Great:
A fafe companion, and an eafy friend,
Unblam'd thro' life, lamented in thy end.
These are thy honours! not that here thy buft
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.

There is fomething fo tender and moving, and fuch a ftrain of paternal and filial affection in Mr. Pope's Epitaph on Dr. Atterbury, that we shall give it a place among thefe examples, tho' the Critics, perhaps, will object to its being a true Epitaph.

On Dr. FRANCIS ATTERBURY, Bishop of Rochester, who died in exile at Paris, 1732.

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

DIALOGUE.

She. Yes, we have liv'd-one pang, and then we part!
May heav'n, dear father! now have all thy heart.
Yet ah! how once we lov'd, remember ftill,
Till you are duft like me.

He.

Dear fhade! I will:

Then mix this duft with thine-O fpotless ghoft!
O more than fortune, friends, or country loft!
Is there on earth one care, one with befide?
Yes-Save my country, 'heav'n,

-He faid, and dy'd.

I fhall conclude thefe examples of the serious kind with an Epitaph written by Mr. Smart, to the memory of Master ***, who died of a lingering illness, aged eleven.

Henceforth be every tender tear fuppreft,
Or let us weep for joy that he is blest;

From grief to blifs, from earth to heav'n remov'd,
His mem'ry honour'd, as his life belov'd.

That heart o'er which no evil e'er had pow'r !

That.difpofition, fickness cou'd not four!
That fenfe, fo oft to riper years deny'd!

That patience, heroes might have own'd with pride!
His painful race undauntedly he ran,

And in th' eleventh winter died a MAN.

Amongst the Epitaphs of a punning and ludicrous caft, I know of none prettier than that which is faid to have been written by Mr. Prior on himself, wherein he is pleafantly fatirical upon the folly of those who value themselves on account of the long feries of ancestors through which they can trace their pedigree.

Nobles and Heralds, by your leave,

Here lie the bones of Matthew Prior,

The fon of Adam and of Eve:

Let Bourbon or Nassau go higher.

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Of the fame caft is that written by Mr. Pope on one who would not be buried in Weftminfter-abbey.

Heroes, and kings! your distance keep,
In peace let one poor poet fleep,

Who never flatter'd folks like you :
Let Horace blush, and Virgil too.

The following Epitaph on a Mifer contains a good caution and an agreeable raillery.

Reader, beware immod❜rate love of pelf:

Here lies the worst of thieves, who robb'd himself.

But Dr. Swift's Epitaph on the same subject is, I think, a mafter-piece of the kind.

EPITAPH on a MISER.

Beneath this verdant hillock lies
Demer, the wealthy and the wife.
His Heirs, that he might fafely rest,
Have put his Carcass in a Cheft:
The very Cheft, in which, they fay,
His other Self, his Money, lay.
And if his heirs continue kind
To that dear Self he left behind,
I dare believe that four in five
Will think his better Half alive.

We shall give but one example more of this kind, which

is a merry Epitaph on an old Fiddler, who was remarkable. (we may fuppofe) for beating time to his own mufick.

On STEPHEN the Fiddler.

Stephen and Time are now both even ;

Stephen beat Time, now Time's beat Stephen..

We are now come to that fort of Epitaph which rejects Rhyme, and has no certain and determinate measure; but where the diction must be pure and strong, every word have weight, and the antithefis be preferved in a clear and dire oppofition. We cannot give a better example of this fort of Epitaph, than that on the tomb of Mr. Pulteney, in the cloysters of Westminfier-Abbey.

Reader,

If thou art a BRITON,

Behold this Tomb with Reverence and Regret :
Here lie the Remains of

DANIEL PULTENEY,

The kindest Relation, the trueft Friend,
The warmeft Patriot, the worthiest Man ;
He exercised Virtues in this Age,
Sufficient to have diftinguish'd him even in the beft.
Sagacious by Nature,

Induftrious by Habit,
Inquifitive with Art;

He gain'd a complete Knowledge of the State of Britain,
Foreign and domestic.

In most the backward Fruit of tedious Experience,
In him the early Acquifition of undiffipated Youth :
He ferv'd the Court feveral Years:

Abroad, in the aufpicious Reign of Queen Anne,
At home, in the Reign of that excellent Prince K. George the first.
He ferved his Country always,

At Court independent,

In the Senate unbiass'd,

At every Age, and in every Station:
This was the bent of his generous Soul,
This the Bufinefs of his laborious Life.
Public Men, and Public Things,
He judged by one conftant Standard,
The true Intereft of Britain:

He made no other Distinction of Party,
He abhorred all other :

Gentle, humane, difinterested, beneficent,
He created no Enemies on his own Account :
Firm, determin'd, inflexible,

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

Reader,

In this Misfortune of thy Country lament thy own:
For know,

The Lofs of fo much private Virtue
Is a public Calamity.

That poignant fatire, as well as extravagant praife, may be conveyed in this manner, will be feen by the following Epitaph written by Dr. Arbuthnot on Francis Chartres; which

is too well known, and too much admired, to need our commendation.

HERE continueth to rot

The Body of FRANCIS CHARTRES,
Who with an INFLEXIBLE CONSTANCY,
And INIMITABLE UNIFORMITY of Life,
PERSISTED,

In fpite of AGE and INFIRMITIES,
In the Practice of EVERY HUMAN VICE,
Excepting PRODIGALITY and HYPOCRISY :
His infatiable AVARICE exempted him from the first,
His matchlefs IMPUDENCE from the fecond.
Nor was he more fingular

In the undeviating Pravity of his Manners,
Than fuccefsful

In Accumulating WEALTH:

For, without TRADE OF PROFESSION,
Without TRUST of PUBLIC MONEY,
And without BRIBE-WORTHY Service,
He acquired, or more properly created,
A MINISTERIAL ESTATE.

He was the only Person of his Time
Who could CHEAT without the Mask of HONESTY,
Retain his Primeval MEANNESS

When poffefs'd of TEN THOUSAND a year;
And having daily deferved the GIBBET for what he did,
Was at laft condemn'd to it for what he could not do.
Oh Indignant Reader !

Think not his Life ufelefs to Mankind;
PROVIDENCE COnniv'd at his execrable Designs,
To give to After-ages

A confpicuous PROOF and EXAMPLE,
Of how fmall Eftimation is EXORBITANT WEALTH
in the Sight of GOD,

By his bestowing it on the moft UNWORTHY OF ALL
MORTALS.

This fort of Epitaph may alfo admit of humour and ridicule, as will appear by the following on a boon companion who is fuppofed to have loft his life to obtain his friend a borough.

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