Glow in thy heart, and smile upon thy face.
Let day improve on day, and year on year,
Without a pain, a trouble, or a fear;
Till death unfelt that tender frame destroy,
In fome foft dream, or extafy of joy,
Peaceful fleep out the Sabbath of the tomb,
And wake to raptures in a life to come.

ΤΟ

Mr. THOMAS SOUTHERN.

On his Birth-day, 1742.

RESIGN'I

ESIGN'D to live, prepar'd to die,
With not one sin, but poetry,

This day TOM's fair account has run
(Without a blat) to eighty one.
Kind Boyle, before his poet, lays
A table, with a cloth of bays;
And Ireland, mother of fweet fingers,
Prefents her harp ftill to his fingers.
The feast, his tow'ring genius marks
In yonder wild goofe and the larks!
The mushrooms shew his wit was fudden !
And for his judgment, lo a pudden !
Roast beef, tho' old, proclaims him stout,
And grace, altho' a bard, devout.

May Tom, whom heav'n sent down to raise

The price of prologues and of plays,
Be ev'ry birth-day more a winner,
Digeft his thirty-thousandth dinner;
Walk to his grave without reproach,
And scorp a rafçal and a coach.

In the Church of Withyam in Sussex.

DORSET, the grace of Courts, the Muses

pride,

Patron of Arts, and judge of Nature, dy'd.
The fcourge of pride, tho' fanctifi'd or great,
Of fops in learning, and of knaves in state:
Yet foft his nature, tho' fevere his lay,
His anger moral, and his wisdom gay.
Bleft Sat'rift! who touch'd the mean so true,
As show'd, vice had his hate and pity too.
Bleft Courtier! who could king and country please,
Yet facred keep his friendships, and his ease.
Bleft Peer! his great forefathers ev'ry grace
Reflecting, and reflected in his race;

Where other BUCKHURSTS, other DORSETS shine,
And Patriots ftill, or Poets, deck the line.

VOL. II.

I 1.

ON SIR WILLIAM TRUMBAL

One of the principal Secretaries of State to King WILLIAM III. who having refigned his place, died in his retirement at Easthamsted in Berkshire, 1716.

A

pleafing form; a firm, yet cautious mind; Sincere, tho' prudent; conftant, yet resign'd : Honour unchang'd, a principle profest, Fix'd to one fide, but mod'rate to the rest: An honeft Courtier, yet a Patriot too ; Just to his Prince, and to his Country true: Fill'd with the fenfe of age, the fire of youth; A fcorn of wrangling, yet a zeal for truth; A gen'rous faith, from fuperftition 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.

I I I.

ΟΝ

THE HON. SIMON HARCOURT,

Only Son of the Lord Chancellor HARCOURT; at the Church of Stanton Harcourt in Oxfordshire, 1720.

To this

O this fad shrine, whoe'er thou art! draw near, Here lies the friend most lov'd, the fon most dear: Who ne'er knew joy, but friendship might divide, Or gave his father grief but when he dy'd.

How vain is Reafon, Eloquence how weak! If POPE must tell what HARCOURT cannot speak. Oh let thy once-lov'd friend infcribe thy ftone And, with a father's forrows, mix his own!