ON THE HON. SIMON HARCOURT,
ONLY SON OF THE LORD CHANCELLOR HARCOURT,
At the Church of Stanton-Harcourt, Oxfordshire, 1720.
To 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!
JACOBUS CRAGGS,
REGNI MAGNE BRITANNIE A SECRETIS,
ET CONSILIIS SANCTIORIBUS:
PRINCIPIS PARITER AC POPULI AMOR ET DELICIE:
VIXIT TITULIS ET INVIDIA MAJOR
ANNOS, HEU PAUCOS, Xxxv.
OB. FEB. XIV. 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.
THY reliques, Rowe! to this sad shrine we trust,
And near thy Shakspeare place thy honour'd bust,
Oh, next him, skill'd to draw the tender tear-
For never heart felt passion more sincere—
To nobler sentiment to fire the brave,-
For never Briton more disdain'd a slave !
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest;
Blest in thy genius, in thy love too blest!
And blest, that timely from our scene remov'd,
Thy soul enjoys the liberty it lov'd.
To these, so mourn'd in death, so lov'd in life,
The childless parent and the widow'd wife
With tears inscribes this monumental stone,
That holds their ashes and expects her own.
WHO DIED OF A CANCER IN HER BREAST.
HERE rests a woman, good without pretence,
Bless'd with plain reason and with sober sense:
Nc conquest 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.
HON. R. DIGBY AND OF HIS SISTER MARY,
ERECTED BY THEIR FATHER 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 every thought sincere,
Who knew no wish but what the world might hear:
Of softest manners, unaffected mind,
Lover of peace, and friend of humankind!
Go live! for Heaven's eternal year is thine;
Go, and exalt thy mortal to divine.
And thou, bless'd maid! attendant on his doom, Pensive hath 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!
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1723.
KNELLER, by Heaven, and not a master, taught, Whose art was nature, and whose pictures thought; 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.
ON GENERAL HENRY WITHERS,
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1729.
HERE, Withers! rest; thou bravest, gentlest mind,
Thy country's friend, but more of humankind.
O born to arms! O worth in youth approv'd!
O soft humanity, in age belov'd!
For thee the hardy veteran 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.
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.
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!'
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