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HERE, Withers, rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind, Thy country's friend, but more of human kind. 0, born to arms! 0, worth in youth approved ! 0, soft humanity, in age beloved ! For thee the hardy veteran drops a tear, And the gay courtier feels the sigh sincere.
Withers, adieu! yet not with thee remove
This modest stone, what few vain marbles can,
Of manners gentle, of affections mild ;
INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON,
Testantur Tempus, Natura, Cælum :
Hoc marmor fatetur.
Nature and Nature's laws lay hid in night : God said, “ Let Newton be!' and all was light.
ON DR. FRANCIS ATTERBURY,
BISHOP OF ROCHESTER,
Who died in exile at Paris, 1732, his only daughter having
expired in his arms immediately after she arrived in France to see him.
Yes, we have lived--one pang, and then we part !
Dear shade! I will ; Then mix this dust with thine.-0 spotless ghost ! 0, more than fortune, friends, or country lost ! Is there on earth one care, one wish beside? Yes--Save my country, Heaven!
He said, and died.