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Calmly he look'd on either Life, and here
Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear;
From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfy'd,
Thank'd Heaven that he had liv'd, and that he dy'd.

XI.
On Mr. GAY.

In Weltininfter-Abbey, 1732.

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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, ey'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,

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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,

XII.
Intended for Sir ISAAC NEWTON,

In Westminster-Abbey.

ISA A CUS NEWTONUS:

Quem Immortalem
Teftantur Tempus, Natura, Cælum:

Mortalem

Hoc marmor fatetur.
Nature and Nature's Laws lay hid in Night:
God said, Let Newton be! and all was Light.

XIII.
On Dr. FRANCIS ATTERBURY,

Bishop of Rochefter.
Who died in Exile at Paris, 1732.
(His only Daughter having expired in his arms, im-

mediately after the arrived in France to see him.]

DIALOG U E.

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May Heaven, dear Father ! now have all thy Heart.
Yet ah! how once we lov’d, remember still,
Till you are duft like me.

HE.

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Dear Shade! I will :
Then mix this dust with thine-O spotless Ghost!"
O more than Fortune, Friends, or Country loft!
Is there on Earth, one care, one with beside ?
Yes-SAVE MY COUNTRY, Heaven,

He said, and dy'd.

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XIV. On EDMOND Duke of BUCKINGHAM, Who died in the Nineteenth Year of his

Age, 1735 I

F modest Youth, with cool Reflection crown'd,

And every opening Virtue blooming round,
Could save a Parent's justest Pride from fate,
Or add one Patriot to a sinking state;
This weeping marble had not ask'd thy Tear,
Or sadly told, how many hopes lie here !
The living Virtue now had shone approv'd,
The Senate heard him, and his Country lov'd.
Yet softer Honours, and less noisy Fame
Attend the shade of gentle BUCKINGHAM:
In whom a Race, for Courage fam'd and Art,
Ends in the milder Ierit of the Heart;
And, Chiefs or Sages long to Britain given,
Pays the last Tribute of a Saint to Heaven.

XV. For

XV.

For One who would not be buried in

Westminster-Abbey.

HEROES and Kingst your distance keep 3

let one poor

In

peace
Who never fatter'd Folks like you :
Let Horace blush, and Virgil too.

Another, on the fame.
NDER this Marble, or under this Sill,

Or under this Turf, or e'en what they will;
Whatever an Heir, or a Friend in his stead,
Or any good creature fall lay o'er my head,
Lies one who ne'er car'd, and still cares not a pin
What they said, or may say of the Mortal within :
But who, living and dying, serene still and free,
Trusts in GOD, that as well as he was, he shall be.

UNI

XVI. Lord CONINGSBY'S EPITAPH *.

HERE lies Lord Coningsby—be civil;

The rest God knows-fo does the Devil.

* This Epitaph, originally written on Picus Mirandula, is applied to F. Chartres, and printed among the works of Swift. . See Hawkesworth edition, vol. vi. S.

On

On BUTLER's MONUMENT.

Perhaps by Mr. POPE.

R

ESPECT to Dryden, Sheffield justly pay'd,

And noble Villers honour'd Cowley's shade:
But whence this Barber?--that a name fo mean
Should, join'd with Butler's, on a tomb be seen:
This pyramid would better far proclaim,
To future ages humbler Settle's name :
Poet and patron then had been well pair'd,
The city printer, and the city bard.

* Mr. Pope, in one of the prints from Scheemaker's monument of Shakespeare in Westminster-Abbey, has sufficiently shewn his contempt of Alderman Barber, by the following couplet, which is substituted in the place of “ The cloud-capt towers, &c."

• Thus Britain lov'd me; and preserv'd my fame, « Clear from a Barber's or a Benson's name."

A. Pope.
Pope might probably have suppreffed his fatire on the
Alderman, because he was one of Swift's acquaintances
and correspondents ; though in the 4th Book of the
Dunciad he has an anonymous stroke at him :

So by each bard an Alderman fhall fit,
“ A heavy Lord thall hang at every wit." S.

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