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Go, live! for Heaven's eternal year is thine,
Go, and exalt thy Moral to Divine.

And thou, bleft Maid! attendant on his doom,
Penfive haft follow'd to the filent tomb,
Steer'd the fame courfe to the fame quiet fhore,
Not parted long, and now to part no more!
Go then, where only blifs fincere is known!
Go, where to love and to enjoy are one!

Yet take these Tears, Mortality's relief,
And till we share your joys, forgive our grief:
Thefe little rites, a Stone, a Verse receive;
'Tis all a Father, all a Friend can give!

VIII.

On Sir GODFREY KNELLER,
In Westminster-Abbey, 1723.

KNELLER, by Heaven and not a Mafter taught,

Whofe Art was Nature, and whofe Pictures
Thought;

Now for two ages having fnatch'd from Fate
Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great,
Lies crown'd with Princes honours, Poets lays,
Due to his Merit, and brave Thrft of praise.

Living, great Nature fear'd he might outvie
Her works; and, dying, fears herself may die.

IX.

On General HENRY WITHERS,
In Westminster Abbey, 1729.

HERE, WITHERS, reft! thou bravest, 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!
Amidt Corruption, Luxury, and Rage,
Still leave fome ancient Virtues to our age:
Nor let us fay (thofe English glories gone)
The laft 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 honest Man:

A Poet, bleft beyond the Poet's fate,

Whom Heaven kept facred from the Proud and Great: Foe to loud Praife, 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 feast rofe fatisfy'd,
Thank'd Heaven that he had liv'd, and that he dy'd.

O

XI.

On Mr. GAY.

In Westminster-Abbey, 1732.

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, 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 say,
Striking their penfive bofoms-Here lies GAY.

Another.

WELL then! poor Gay lies under ground,

So there's an end of honest Jack:

So little juftice here he found,

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

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XII.

Intended for Sir ISAAC NEWTON,

In Weftminfter-Abbey.

ISAACUS NEWTONUS:

Quem Immortalem

Teftantur Tempus, Natura, Colum:
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 Rochefter.

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.

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

YE

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.

HE.

Dear Shade! I will:

Then mix this duft with thine-O fpotless Ghoft!"
O more than Fortune, Friends, or Country loft!
Is there on Earth, one care, one wifh 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

I

Age, 1735.

F modeft Youth, with cool Reflection crown'd,

And every opening Virtue blooming round,
Could fave a Parent's jufteft 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 less noisy Fame
Attend the fhade 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 laft Tribute of a Saint to Heaven.

XV. For

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