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His saltern accumulem donis, et fungar inani Muaere I VIRO.
ON CHARLES EARL OF DORSET,
In the Church of Withyam, in Sussex.
DORSET, the grace of courts, the muses' pride,
Patron of arts, and judge of nature, died.
The scourge of pride, though sanctified or great,
Of fops in learning, and of knaves in state:
Yet soft his nature, though severe his lay,
His anger moral, and his wisdom gay.
Blest satirist! who touch'd the mean so true.
As show'd vice had his hate and pity too.
Blest courtier! who could king and country please,
Yet sacred keep his friendships, and his ease.
Blest peer! his great forefathers' every grace
Reflecting, and reflected in his race;
Where other Buckhursts, other Dorsets shine,
And patrons still, or poets, deck the line.
One of the principal Secretaries of State to King
William the Third, who, having resigned his
Place, died in his Retirement at Easthamsted,
in Berkshire, 1716.
APLEASING form; a firm, yet cautious mind;
Sincere, though prudent; constant, yet resign'd;
Honour unchang'd, a principle profest,
Fix'd to one side, but mod'rate to the rest:
An honest courtier, yet a patriot too;
Just to his prince, and to his country true:
Fill'd with the sense of age, the fire of youth,
A scorn of wrangling, yet a aeal for truth:
A gen'rous faith, from superstition free;
A love to peace, and hate of tyranny:
Such this mau 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 Harcourt, at the Church of Stanton-Harcourt, in Oxfordshire, 1720.
nno this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art, draw near;
-*- Here lies the friend most lov'd, theson 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!
ON JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ.
In Westminster Abbey.
REGI MAGNJE BRITANNIA A SECRETIS
ET CONSILIIS SANCTIORIBUS,
PRINCIPIS PARITER AC POPULI AMOR ET
VIXIT, TITULIS ET INVIDIA MAJOR,
ANNOS, HEU PAUCOS, XXXV.
OB. FEB. XVI. MDCCXX.
STATESMAN, yet friend to truth ! of soul sincere,
In action faithful, and in houour 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 ihe muse he lov'd.
INTENDED 'FOR MR. ROWE,
In Westminster Abbey.
mHY reliques, Rowe, to this fair urn we trust.
And, sacred, place by Dryden's awful dost:
Beneath a rnde and nameless stone he lies,
To which thy tomb shall guide inquiring eyes.
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest!
Blest in thy genins, in thy love too blest!
One grateful woman to thy fame supplies
'What a whole thankless land to his denies.
ON MRS. CORBET,
jVko died of a Caricer in her Breast.
HERE rests a woman, good without pretence.
Blest with plain reason, and witli sober sense:
No conquests she, hut 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.
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.
Gl O! fair example of untainted youth,
T 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 ev'ry thought sincere,
Who knew no wish but what the world might hear:
Of softest manners, unaffected mind,
Lover of peace, and friend of human kind:
Go, live! for heaven's eternal year is thine,
Go, and exalt thy moral to divine!
And thou, blest maid ! attendant on his doom, Pensive hast 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 thrn, where only bliss sincere is known I
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!
ON SIR GODFREY KNELLER,
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; aud, 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 human kind.
O born to arms! O worth In youth approv'd!
O soft humanity, in age belov'd!
For thee the hardy vet'ran drops a tear,
And the gay courtier feels the sigh sincere.
Withers, adien! yet not with thee remove
Thy martial spirit, or thy social love!