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Who broke no Promise, sery'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.


Intended for Mr. ROW E,

In Westminster-Abbey.
T! H Y reliques, Rowe, to this fair Urn we trust,

And sacred, 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 shade, and endless rest!

Blest in thy Genius, in thy Love too blest !
One grateful woman to thy fame supplies
What a whole thankless land to his denies.


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

Thy Reliques, Rowe! to this sad fhrine we trust,
And near thy Shakespeare 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 difdain'd a llave.
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest;
Bleft in thy genius, in thy love too blest!
And bleft, that, timely from our scene remov’d,
Thy soul enjoys the liberty it lov’d.
To these fo 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 alhes and expects her own.

VI. On

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Who died of a Cancer in her Breast.


ERE rests a Woman, good without pretence,

Bleft with plain Reason, and with sober Sense :
No Conquests the, but o'er herself, defir'd,
No Arts essay'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, so compos'd a mind;
So firm, yet soft; so strong, yet 10 refin'd;"
Heaven, as its purest gold, by Tortures try'd; ;
The Saint sustain'd it, but the Woman dy'd,


On the Monument of the Honourable ROBERT

DIGBY, and of his Sister Mary, erected by their Father the LORD DIGBY, in the Church of Sherborne in Dorsetshire, 1727.


O! fair Example of untainted youth,

Of modest wisdom, and pacific truth :
Compos'd in sufferings, and in joy sedate,
Good without noise, without pretenfion great.
Just of thy word, in every thought fincere,
Who knew no with but what the world might hear:
Of softest 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 chợu, blest Maid ! attendant on his doom,
Pensive haft follow'd to the filent tomb,
Steer'd the same course to the same quiet fhore,
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 Mafter taught,

Whose Art was Nature, and whose Pictures

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.


In Westminster Abbey, 1729.

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

Thy Country's friend, but more of human-kind.
Oh born to Arms! 0 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!
Amidk Corruption, Luxury, and Rage,
Still leave fome ancient Virtues to our age :
Nor let us say (those English glories gone)
The last true Briton lies beneath this stone.


At Easthamfted in Berks, 1730.

THS modeft Stone, what few wain Marbles can,

May A Poet, bleft beyond the Poet's fate, Whom Heaven kept sacred from the Proud and Great: 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 fatisfy'd,
Thank'd Heaven that he had liv'd, and that he dy'd.

On Mr. GA Y.
In Weftininfter-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 Estate,
And uncorrupted, ev’n 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 Buft
Is mix'd with Heroes, or with Kings thy dust;
But that the Worthy and the Good shall say,
Striking their pensive bofoms-Here lies Gay,




ELL 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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