« ПредишнаНапред »
"AIR, kind, and true, a treasure each alone, A wife, a mistress, and a friend in
one, Rest in this tomb, rais'd at thy husband's cost, Here sadly fumming, what he had, and loft.
Come, virgins, ere in equal bands ye join,
Come first, and offer at her sacred shrine;
Pray but for half the virtues of this wife,
Compound for all the rest, with longer life;
And wish your vows, like hers, may be return'd,
So lov'd when living, and when dead fo mourn'd:
Sir PALMES FAIRBONE's Tomb
Sacred to the immortal memory of Sir PALMES
FAIRBONE, Knight, Governor of Tangier ; in execution of which command, he was mortally wounded by a shot from the Moors, then besieging the town, in the forty-sixth year of his
age. October 24, 1680.
E sacred relics, which your marble keep,
Here, undisturb’d by wars, in quiet sleep : Discharge the trust, which, when it was below, Fairbone's undaunted soul did undergo, And be the town's Palladium from the foe. Alive and dead these walls he will defend : Great actions great examples must attend. The Candian siege his early valor knew, Where Turkish blood did his young hands imbrue. Vol. II.
From thence returning with deserv'd applause,
Againstthe Moors his well-flesh'd sword hedraws;
The same the courage, and the same the cause.
His youth and age, his life and death, combine,
As in some great and regular defign,
All of a piece throughout, and all divine.
Still nearer heav'n his virtues shone more bright,
Like rising fames expanding in their height;
The martyr's glory crown'd the soldiers fight.
More bravely British general never fel,
Nor general's death was e'er reveng'd fo well ;
Which his pleas'd eyes beheld before their close,
Follow'd by thousand victims of his foes.
To his lamented loss for time to come
His pious widow consecrates this tomb.
HREE Poets, in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.
The first, in loftiness of thought furpass'd ;
The next, in majesty; in both the last,
The force of nature cou'd no further
To make a third, the join'd the former two.
FAIR MAIDEN LADY, Who dy'd at BATH, and is there interred.
E LOW this marble monument is laid
D All that heav'n wants of this celestial maid
Preserve, O sacred tomb, thy trust consign'd ;
The mold was made on purpose for the mind :
And she wou'd lose, if, at the latter day,
One atom cou'd be mix'd of other clay.
Such were the features of her heav'nly face,
Her limbs were form'd with such harmonious
So faultless was the frame, as if the whole
Had been an emanation of the foul ;
Which her own inward symmetry reveald;
And like a picture shone, in glass anneald.
Or like the fun eclips'd, with shaded light :
Too piercing, elfe, to be fustain'd by fight.
Each thought was visible that rolld within :
As thro a crystal case the figur'd hours are feeń.
And heav'n did this transparent veil provide,
Because she had no guilty thought to hide.
All white, a virgin-saint, she fought the skies :
For marriage, tho it sullies not, it dies.
High tho her wit, yet humble was her mind;
As if the cou'd not, or she wou'd not find
How much her worth transcended all her kind.
Yet she had learn'd so much of heaven below,
That when arriv'd, she scarce had more to know:
But only to refresh the former hint;
And read her Maker in a fairer print.