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Epitaphs.

"His saltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani
Munere!"-VIRG.

["This unavailing gift at least I may bestow."-DRYDEN.]

I.

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.

Bless'd satirist! who touch'd the mean so true,
As show'd vice had his hate, and pity too.

Bless'd courtier! who could king and country please,
Yet sacred keep his friendships, and his ease.
Bless'd peer! his great forefathers' every grace
Reflecting, and reflected in his race;

Where other BUCKHURSTS, other DORSETS shine,
And patriots still, or poets, deck the line.

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II.

ON SIR WILLIAM TRUMBULL,

ONE OF THE PRINCIPAL SECRETARIES OF STATE TO KING WILLIAM III., WHO, HAVING RESIGNED HIS PLACE, DIED IN HIS RETIREMENT AT EASTHAMPSTEAD IN BERKSHIRE, 1716.

A PLEASING form; a firm, yet cautious mind;

Sincere, though prudent; constant, yet resign'd:

Honour unchanged, a principle professed,
Fix'd to one side, but moderate 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 zeal for truth;

A generous faith, from superstition free;

A love to peace, and hate of tyranny;

Such this man was; who now, from earth removed,
At length enjoys that liberty he loved.

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III.

ON THE HON. SIMON HARCOURT,

ONLY SON OF THE LORD CHANCELLOR HARCOURT; AT THE CHURCH OF
STANTON-HARCOURT, IN OXFORDSHIRE, 1720.

То

this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art! draw near,

Here lies the friend most loved, the son 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-loved friend inscribe thy stone,
And with a father's sorrows mix his own!

IV.

ON JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ.,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

JACOBUS CRAGGS,

REGI MAGNE BRITANNIE A SECRETIS

ET CONSILIIS SANCTIORIBUS,

PRINCIPIS PARITER AC POPULI AMOR ET DELICIÆ;
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 honour clear!
Who broke no promise, served no private end,
Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend;
Ennobled by himself, by all approved,

Praised, wept, and honour'd, by the Muse he loved.

V.

INTENDED FOR MR. ROWE,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

THY
HY reliques, RowE, to this fair urn we trust,

And sacred, place by DRYDEN's awful dust:
Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies,1
To which thy tomb shall guide inquiring eyes.
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest!
Bless'd 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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This epitaph was altered by Pope, and now stands as follows, on the monument erected in the Abbey to Rowe and his daughter:

Thy reliques, Rowe! to this sad shrine we trust,
And near thy Shakspeare place thy honoured bust
a, next him, skill'd to draw the tender tear,
For never heart felt passion more sincere;
To nobler sentiment to fire the brave,
For neyer Briton more disdain'd a slave.
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest;
Bless'd in thy genius, in thy love too blest!
And blessed, that timely from our scene removed,
Thy soul enjoys the liberty it loved.

To these so mourn'd in death, so loved in life!
The childless parent, and the widow'd wife,
With tears inscribes this monumental stone,

That holds their ashes, and expects her own."]

The tomb of Mr. Dryden was erected upon this hint by the Duke of Buckingham; to which was originally intended this epitaph :

"This Sheffield raised. The sacred dust below

Was Dryden once: the rest who does not know?"

which the author since changed into the plain inscription now upon it, being only the name of that great poet :—

J. DRYDEN.

NATUS AUG. 9, 1631. MORTUUS MAIJ 1, 1700.

JOANNES SHEFFIELD DUX BUCKINGHAMIENSIS
POSUIT.

U

HER

VI.

ON MRS. CORBET,

WHO DIED OF A CANCER IN HER BREAST.

TERE rests a woman, good without pretence,
Bless'd with plain reason, and with sober sense:
No conquests she, but o'er herself, desired;

Nor arts essay'd, but not to be admired.
Passion and Pride were to her soul unknown,
Convinced that Virtue only is our own;
So unaffected, so composed a mind;

So firm, yet soft; so strong, yet so refined;
Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures tried!
The saint sustain'd it, but the woman died.

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VII.

ON THE MONUMENT OF THE HONOURABLE ROBERT
DIGBY, AND HIS SISTER MARY,

ERECTED BY THEIR FATHER THE LORD DIGBY, IN THE CHURCH OF
SHERBORNE IN DORSETSHIRE, 1727.

CO! fair example of untainted youth,

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Of modest wisdom, and pacific truth:

Composed in sufferings, and in joy sedate,

Good without noise, without pretension great :

Just of thy word, in every 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.

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And thou, bless'd 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 then, where only bliss sincere is known!

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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!

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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 outviel
Her works; and dying, fears herself may die.
1 Imitated from the famous epitaph on Raphael:-
'Raphael, timuit, quo sospite, vinci

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Rerum magna parens, et moriente, mori." [And thus translated by Swift's friend, Harrison :"Here Raphael lies, by whose untimely end Nature both lost a rival and a friend."]

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