« ZurückWeiter »
His faltem accumulem donis, et fangar inani Munere!
On CHARLES Earl of Dorset,
In the Church of Withyam in Sussex.
ORSET, the Grace of Courts, the Muses'
Epitaphs.] These little compofitions far exceed any thing we have of the same kind from other hands; yet, if we except the Epitaph on the young Duke of Buckingham, and perhaps one or two more, they are not of equal force with the rest of our Author's writings. The nature of the CompoGtion itself is delicate; and generally it was a task imposed on him; tho' he rarely complied with requests of this nature, as we may see by the small number of these poems, but where the subject was worthy of his ; en.
Yet soft his Nature, tho' severe his Lay,
For random praise the Work would ne'er be done :
For bim she weeps, for bim she weds again. Yet when these elegiac movements came freely from the heart, he mourns in such strains as thew he was equally a master of this kind of Composition with every other he undertook, as the following lines in the Epifle to Jervas may witnels; which would. have made the finest Epitaph in the world :
Call round her Tomb each object of defire,
On Sir William TRUMBAL,
One of the Principal Secretaries of State
to King William III. who having resigned his Place, died in his Retirement at Easthamfted in Berkshire, 1716.
Pleasing Form; a firm yet cautious Mind;
Sincere, tho prudent; constant, yet refign'd: Honour unchang’d, a Principle profeft, Fix'd to one side, but mod'rate to the reft: An honest Courtier, yet a Patriot too; Just to his Prince, and to his Country true : Fill'd with the Sense of Age, tbe Fire of Youth; A Scorn of wrangling, yet a Zeal for Truth ; A gen'rous Faith, from superstition free; A love to Peace, and hate of Tyranny ; Such this Man was; who now from earth remov’d, At length enjoys that Liberty he lov'd.
On the Hon. SIMON HARCOURT.
Only Son of the Lord Chancellor Har
court; at the Church of StantonHarcourt in Oxfordshire, 1720.
O this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art! draw
near, Here lies the Friend most lov'd, the Son moit dear: Who ne'er knew Joy, but friendship might divide, Or gave his Father Grier but when he dy'd.
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!
On JAMES CRAGGS, Esq.
REGI MAGNÆ BRITANNIÆ A
ET CONSILIIS SANCTIORIBUS,
VIXIT TITULIS ET INVIDIA MAJOR
OB. FEB. XVI. MDCCXX.
Statesman, yet Friend to Truth of Soul fincere,