ON MR. ELIJAH FENTON,

AT EASTHAMSTED, BERKS, 1730.

THIS modest stone, what few vain marbles can,
May truly say, Here lies an honest man;
A poet bless'd beyond the poet's fate, [great;
Whom heaven kept sacred from the proud and
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 temperate feast rose satisfied,
Thank'd Heaven that he had liv'd, and that he died.

ON MR. GAY,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1732.

Or 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 e'en 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
Is mix'd with heroes, or with kings thy dust:
But that the worthy and the good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosoms-Here lies Gay!*

INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

ISAACUS NEWTONUS,

QUEM IMMORTALEM

TESTANTUR TEMPUS, NATURA, CŒLUM:

MORTALEM

HOC MARMOR FATETUR.

NATURE and Nature's laws lay hid in night: God said, 'Let Newton be!' and all was light.

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 see him.]

DIALOGUE.

She. YES, we have liv'd-One pang, and then we

part!

May heaven, dear father! now have all thy heart. Yet ah! how once we lov'd, remember still,

Till you are dust like me.

Dear shade! I will:

He. Then mix this dust with thine-O spotless ghost! O more than fortune, friends, or country lost! Is there on earth one care, one wish beside? Yes-Save my country, Heaven!' he said, and died.

ON EDMUND DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM,

WHO DIED IN THE NINETEENTH YEAR OF HIS AGE, 1735.

IF modest youth, with cool reflection crown'd,
And every opening virtue blooming round,
Could save a parent's justest pride from fate,
Or add one patriot to a sinking state,
This weeping marble had not ask'd thy tear,
Or sadly told, how many hopes lie here!
The living virtue now had shone approv'd;
The senate heard him, and his country lov'd.
Yet softer honours and less noisy fame
Attend the shade of gentle Buckingham:
In whom a race, for courage fam'd and art,
Ends in the milder merit of the heart;
And chiefs or sages long to Britain given,
Pays the last tribute of a saint to heaven.

FOR ONE WHO WOULD NOT BE BURIED IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

HEROES and kings! your distance keep;

In

peace let one poor poet sleep,

Who never flatter'd folks like you:

Let Horace blush, and Virgil too.

ANOTHER ON THE SAME.

UNDER this marble, or under this sill,
Or under this turf, or e'en what they will,

Whatever an heir, or a friend in his stead,
Or any good creature shall lay o'er my head,
Lies one who ne'er car'd, and still cares not, a pin
What they said, or may say, of the mortal within ;
But who, living and dying, serene, still and free,
Trusts in God that as well as he was he shall be.

ON TWO LOVERS STRUCK DEAD BY

LIGHTNING.

WHEN eastern lovers feed the funeral fire,
On the same pile their faithful fair expire;
Here pitying heaven that virtue mutual found,
And blasted both, that it might neither wound.
Hearts so sincere th' Almighty saw well pleas'd,
Sent his own lightning, and the victims seiz❜d.

THINK not by rigorous judgment seiz❜d,
A pair so faithful could expire;
Victims so pure heaven saw well pleas'd,
And snatch'd them in celestial fire.

LIVE well, and fear no sudden fate,

When God calls virtue to the grave,

Alike 'tis justice, soon or late,

Mercy alike to kill or save.

Virtue unmov'd can hear the call,

And face the flash that melts the ball.

THE DUNCIAD.

IN FOUR BOOKS.

VOL. III.

10