IX.

On General HENRY WITHERS, In Westminster Abbey, 1729.

HERE, WITHERS, reft! thou braveft, gentleft mind,

Thy Country's friend, but more of human-kind.
Oh born to Arms! O Worth in Youth approv'd!
O foft Humanity, in Age belov'd!

For thee the hardy Veteran drops a tear,
And the gay Courtier feels the figh fincere.

WITHERS, adieu! yet not with thee remove
Thy Martial spirit, or thy Social love!
Amidft Corruption, Luxury, and Rage,
Still leave fome ancient Virtues to our age
Nor let us fay (those English glories gone)
The last true Briton lies beneath this ftone.

X.

On Mr. ELIJAH FENTON, At Eafthamfted in Berks, 1730.

T

HIS modeft Stone, what few vain Marbles can,
May truly fay, Here lies an honeft Man:

A Poet, bleft beyond the Poet's fate,

Whom Heaven kept sacred from the Proud and Great: Foe to loud Praise, and Friend to learned Eafe,

Content with Science in the Vale of Peace,

Calmly

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

OF

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 Eftate,
And uncorrupted, ev'n among the Great:
A fafe Companion, and an eafy 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 duft;
But that the Worthy and the Good shall fay,
Striking their pensive bofoms-Here lies GAY,

Another.

ELL then! poor Gay lies under ground,

WE

So there's an end of honeft Jack:

So little juftice here he found,

'Tis ten to one he'll ne'er come back.

XII.

Intended for Sir ISAAC NEWTON,

In Westminster-Abbey.

ISAACUS NEWTONUS:

Quem Immortalem

Teftantur Tempus, Natura, Cœlum :
Mortalem

Hoc marmor fatetur.

Nature and Nature's Laws lay hid in Night:
GOD faid, Let Newton be! and all was Light.

XIII.

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.]

DIALOGUE.

SHE.

Y

ES, we have liv'd-one pang, and then we part!

May Heaven, dear Father! now have all thy Heart. Yet ah! how once we lov'd, remember still,

Till you are dust like me.

HE

HE.

Dear Shade! I will:

Then mix this duft with thine-O fpotlefs Ghoft!
O more than Fortune, Friends, or Country loft!
Is there on Earth, one care, one with befide?
Yes-SAVE MY COUNTRY, HEAVEN,

-He faid, and dy'd.

XIV.

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

Age, 1735.

F modeft Youth, with cool Reflection crown'd,

And every opening Virtue blooming round,
Could fave a Parent's justest Pride from fate,
Or add one Patriot to a finking state;

This weeping marble had not ask'd thy Tear,
Or fadly told, how many hopes lie here!
The living Virtue now had fhone approv'd,
The Senate heard him, and his Country lov'd,
Yet fofter Honours, and lefs noisy Fame
Attend the shade of gentle BUCKINGHAM:
In whom a Race, for Courage fam'd and Art,
Ends in the milder Merit 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

H

Westminster-Abbey.

EROES and KINGS! your distance keep;
In peace let one poor Poet fleep,
Who never flatter'd Folks like you:
Let Horace blush, and Virgil too.

Another, on the fame.

UNDER this Marble, or under this Sill,

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

XVI.

Lord CONINGSBY's EPITAPH *.

H

ERE lies Lord Coningsby-be civil;

The reft God knows-fo does the Devil.

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

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