With lives, and fortunes, trusting one,
Who fo difcreetly us'd his own.
Sober he was, wife, temperate;
Contented with an old eftate,
Which no foul avarice did increase,
Nor wanton luxury make less.
While yet but young, his father dy'd,
And left him to an happy guide:
Not LE MUE L's mother with more care
Did counfel, or inftruct, her heir;
Or teach with more fuccefs her fon
The vices of the time to fhun.
An heiress fhe; while yet alive,
All that was hers to him did give:
And he just gratitude did show
To one that had oblig'd him fo:
Nothing too much for her he thought,.
By whom he was fo bred, and taught,
So (early made that path to tread,
Which did his youth to honour lead)
His fhort life did a pattern give,
How neighbours, husbands, friends fhould live..
The virtues of a private life
Exceed the glorious noise, and ftrife,
Of battles won: in those we find
The folid int'reft of mankind.
Approv'd by all, and lov'd fo well,
Tho' young, like fruit that's ripe, he fell,
EPITAPH on Colonel CHARLES CAVENDIS H.
ERE lies CHARLES CA'NDISH: let the marble
That hides his ashes, make his virtue known.
Beauty, and valor, did his fhort life grace;
The grief, and glory, of his noble race!
Early abroad he did the world furvey,
As if he knew he had not long to stay:
Saw what great ALEXANDER in the east,
And mighty JULIUS conquer'd in the weft.
Then, with a mind as great as theirs, he came
To find at home occafion for his fame:
Where dark confufion did the nations hide;
And where the jufter, was the weaker, fide.
Two loyal brothers took their fov'reign's part,
Employ'd their wealth, their courage, and their art:
The elder did whole Regiments afford;
The younger brought his conduct, and his sword.
Born to command, a Leader he begun,
And on the rebels lafting honor won:
The Horse, inftructed by their General's worth,
Still made the King victorious in the north:
Where CA'N DISH fought, the Royalifts prevail'd;
Neither his Courage, nor his Judgment, fail'd:
The current of his vict'ries found no stop,
'Till CROMWELL came, his party's chiefeft prop.
Equal fuccefs had fet these champions high,
And both refolve to conquer or to die:
* William Earl of Devonshire.
Virtue with rage, fury with valor, ftrove;
But, that must fall which is decreed above!'
CROMWELL, with odds of number, and of Fate,
Remov'd this bulwark of the Church, and State :
Which the fad iffue of the war declar'd,
And made his task, to ruin both, lefs hard.
So, when the bank neglected is o'erthrown,
The boundless torrent does the country drown.
Thus fell the young, the lovely, and the brave;
Strew bays, and flowers, on his honor'd grave!
EPITAPH on the Lady SEDLEY.
ERE lies the learned SAVIL's heir;
So early wife, and lasting fair!
That none, except her years they told,
Thought her a child, or thought her old.
All that her father knew, or got,
His art, his wealth, fell to her lot:
And she fo well improv'd that stock,
Both of his knowledge, and his flock;
That, Wit and Fortune, reconcil'd
In her, upon each other fmil'd.'
While fhe, to ev'ry well-taught mind,
Was fo propitiously inclin'd,
And gave fuch title to her store,
That none, but th' ignorant, were poor.
The MUSES daily found fupplies
Both from her hands, and from her eyes.
Her bounty did at once engage,
And matchless beauty warm, their rage.
Such was this dame in calmer days,
Her nation's ornament, and praise !
But, when a ftorm disturb'd our rest,
The port, and refuge, of th' oppreft.
This made her fortune understood,
And look'd on as fome public good.
So that, (her person, and her state,
Exempted from the common fate)
In all our civil fury she
Stood, like a facred temple, free.
May here her monument ftand fo,
To credit this rude age! and show
To future times, that even we
Some patterns did of virtue see:
And one fublime example had
Of good, among fo many bad.
EPITAPH to be written under the LATIN Infcription upon the Tomb of the only Son of the Lord ANDOVER.
IS fit the ENGLISH reader fhould be told,
In our own language, what this tomb does hold.
'Tis not a noble corps alone does lie
Under this stone, but a whole family:
His parent's pious care, their name, their joy,
And all their hope, lies bury'd with this boy:
This lovely youth! for whom we all made moan,
That knew his worth, as he had been our own.
Had there been space, and years enough allow'd, His courage, wit, and breeding, to have fhow'd,
We had not found, in all the numerous roll
Of his fam'd ancestors, a greater foul :
His early virtues to that antient stock
Gave as much honour, as from thence he took.
Like buds appearing e'er the frosts are past,
To become man he made fuch fatal hafte;
And to perfection labor'd so to climb,
Preventing flow experience, and time;
That 'tis no wonder death our hopes beguil'd:
He's feldom old, that will not be a child.
EPITAPH, Unfinish'd.
REAT foul! for whom death will no longer ftay,
G But fends in hafte to fnatch our blifs away.
O cruel death! to those you take more kind,
Than to the wretched mortals left behind!
Here beauty, youth, and noble virtue, shin'd;
Free from the clouds of pride that shade the mind.
Inspired verse may on this marble live,
But can no honor to thy ashes give.
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