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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.

HY reliques, Rowe, to this fair Urn we trust, And facred, 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 fhade, and endless reft! Bleft in thy Genius, in thy Love too blest! One grateful woman to thy fame supplies What a whole thankless land to his denies.

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It is as follows on the Monument in the Abbey erected to Rowe and his Daughter.

Thy Reliques, RowE! to this fad fhrine we truft,
And near thy Shakespeare place thy honour'd bust,
Oh, next him, fkill'd to draw the tender tear,
For never heart felt paffion more fincere;
To nobler fentiment to fire the brave,

For never Briton more difdain'd a flave.
Peace to thy gentle fhade, and endless reft;
Bleft in thy genius, in thy love too bleft!
And bleft, that, timely from our fcene remov'd,
Thy foul enjoys the liberty it lov'd.

To these fo mourn'd in death, fo lov'd in life;
The childless parent and the widow'd wife,
With tears infcribes this monumental stone,
That holds their afhes and expects her own.



Who died of a Cancer in her Breaft.

ERE refts a Woman, good without


H Bleft with plain Reafon, and with fober Senfe:

No Conquefts fhe, but o'er herself, defir'd,
No Arts effay'd, but not to be admir'd.
Paffion and Pride were to her Soul unknown,
Convinc'd that Virtue only is our own.
So unaffected, fo compos'd a mind;
So firm, yet foft; fo ftrong, yet fo refin'd;
Heaven, as its pureft gold, by Tortures try'd;
The Saint fuftain'd it, but the Woman dy’d.


On the Monument of the Honourable ROBERT DIGBY, and of his Sifter MARY, erected by their Father the LORD DIGBY, in the Church of Sherborne, in Dorfetthire, 1727.

G of modeft wirdom, and pacific truth;

O! fair Example of untainted youth,

Compos'd in fufferings, and in joy fedate,
Good without noife, without pretenfion great.
Juft of thy word, in every thought fincere,
Who knew no with but what the world might hear:
Of fofteft manners, unaffected mind,
Lover of peace, and friend of human kind:
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Go, live! for Heaven's eternal year is thine,
Go, and exalt thy Moral to Divine.

And thou, bleft Maid! attendant on his doom,
Penfive haft follow'd to the filent tomb,
Steer'd the fame courfe to the fame quiet fhore,
Not parted long, and now to part no more!
Go then, where only blifs fincere 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:
Thefe little rites, a Stone, a Verse receive;
'Tis all a Father, all a Friend can give!




In Westminster-Abbey, 1723.

NELLER, by Heaven, and not a Mafter taught,
Whofe Art was Nature, and whofe Pictures

Now for two ages having fnatch'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.

ERE, WITHERS, reft! thou braveft, gentleft mind,

Oh born to Arms! O Worth in Youth approv'd!
O foft Humanity, in Age belov'd!

For thee, the hardy Veteran drops a tear,
And the gay Courtier feels the figh fincere.
WITHERS, adieu! yet not with thee remove
Thy Martial fpirit, or thy Social love!
Amidft Corruption, Luxury, and Rage,
Still leave fome ancient Virtues to our age:
Nor let us fay (thofe English glories gone)
The laft true Briton lies beneath this ftone.


On Mr. ELIJAH FENTON, At Easthamfted, in Berks, 1730.


HIS modeft Stone, what few vain Marbles can,

May truly fay, Here lies an honest Man:

A Poet, bleft beyond the Poet's fate,

Whom Heaven kept facred from the Proud and Great: Foe to loud Praife, and Friend to learned Eafe,

Content with Science in the Vale of Peace,

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Calmly he look'd on either Life, and here

Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear;
From Nature's temperate feaft rofe fatisfy'd,
Thank'd Heaven that he had liv'd, and that he dy'd.



On Mr. GAY,

In Westminster-Abbey, 1732.

F 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 Eftate,
And uncorrupted, ev'n among the Great:
A fafe Companion, and an eafy Friend,
Unblam'd through 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.



WELL then! poor Gay lies under ground,
So there's an end of honest Jack:

So little justice here he found,

"Tis ten to one he 'll ne'er come back.



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