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EPITAPH S. N

"His faltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani

"Munere !"

VIRG.

I.

On CHARLES Earl of DORSET,

In the Church of Withyam in Suffex.

DORS

ORSET, the Grace of Courts, the Mufes' Pride, Patron of Arts, and judge of Nature, dy'd. The scourge of Pride, though fanctified or great, Of Fops in Learning, and of Knaves in State: Yet foft his Nature, though fevere his Lay, His Anger moral, and his Wisdom gay. Bleft Satirift! who touch'd the Mean fo true,

As fhow'd, Vice had his hate and pity too.

Bleft Courtier! who could King and Country please,
Yet facred keep his Friendships, and his ease.
Bleft Peer! his great Forefathers every grace
Reflecting, and reflected in his Race;

Where other BUCKHURSTS, other DORSETS shine,
And Patrons ftill, or Poets, deck the Line.

II.

On Sir WILLIAM TRUMBAL,

One of the principal Secretaries of State to King WILLIAM III. who, having refigned his place, died in his Retirement at Eaft-hamfted in Berkfhire, 1716.

A Pleafing Form; a firm, yet cautious Mind

Sincere, though prudent; conftant, yet refign'd:

Honour unchang'd, a Principle profest,

Fix'd to one fide, but moderate to the rest:
An honest Courtier, yet a Patriot too;
Juft to his Prince, and to his Country true:
Fill'd with the Senfe of Age, the Fire of Youth,
A Scorn of Wrangling, yet a Zeal for Truth;
A generous Faith, from Superftition free:

A love to Peace, and hate of Tyranny;

Such this Man was: who now, from Earth remov'd, At length enjoys that Liberty he lov'd.

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III.

On the Hon. SIMON HARCOURT,

Only Son of the Lord Chancellor HARCOURT, at the Church of Stanton-Harcourt in Oxfordfhire, 1720.

T

O this fad fhrine, whoe'er thou art! draw near,

Here lies the Friend most lov'd, the Son moft dear:
Who ne'er knew Joy, but Friendship might divide,
Or gave his Father Grief but when he dy'd.

How vain is Reason, Eloquence how weak!
If Pope must tell what HARCOURT cannot speak.
Oh let thy once-lov'd Friend inscribe thy Stone,
And, with a Father's forrows, mix his own!

IV.

On JAMES CRAGGS, Efq;

In Westminster-Abbey.

JACOBUS CRAGGS

REGI MAGNE BRITANNIE A SECRETIS
ET CONSILIIS SANCTIORIBUS,

PRINCIPIS PARITER AC POPULI AMOR ET DELICIÆ;
VIXIT TITULIS ET INVIDIA MAJOR

ANNOS, HEU PAUCOS, XXXV.

OB. FEB. XVI. MDCCXX.

Statefman, yet Friend to Truth! of Soul fincere,
In Action faithful, and in Honour clear!

Who

Who broke no Promise, ferv'd no private End,
Who gain'd no Title, and who loft no Friend,
Ennobled by Himself, by All approv'd,

Prais'd, wept, and honour'd, by the Muse he lov'd.

V.

Intended for Mr. R O W E,
In Weftminster-Abbey.

HY reliques, Rowe, to this fair Urn we trust,

THY

And facred, place by Dryden's awful dust : Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies,

To which thy Tomb fhall guide inquiring eyes.

Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest!
Bleft in thy Genius, in thy Love too blest!
One grateful woman to thy fame fupplies
What a whole thanklefs land to his denies.

VARIATION.

5

It is as follows on the Monument in the Abbey erected to Rowe and his Daughter.

Thy Reliques, RowE! to this fad fhrine we truft,
And near thy Shakespeare place thy honour'd bust,
Oh, next him, fkill'd to draw the tender tear,
For never heart felt paffion more fincere ;
To nobler fentiment to fire the brave,
For never Briton more difdain'd a flave.
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest;
Bleft in thy genius, in thy love too bleft!
And bleft, that, timely from our fcene remov'd,
Thy foul enjoys the liberty it lov'd.
To thefe fo mourn'd in death, fo lov'd in life;
The childless parent and the widow'd wife,
With tears infcribes this monumental stone,
That holds their ashes and expects her own.

A a 4

VI. On

H

VI.

On Mrs. CORBET,

Who died of a Cancer in her Breaft.

ERE refts a Woman, good without pretence,

Bleft with plain Reason, and with fober Sense:
No Conquefts the, but o'er herfelf, defir'd,
No Arts effay'd, but not to be admir'd.
Paffion and Pride were to her Soul unknown,
Convinc'd that Virtue only is our own.
So unaffected, fo compos'd a mind;
So firm, yet foft; fo ftrong, yet fo refin'd;
Heaven, as its pureft gold, by Tortures try'd; :
The Saint fuftain'd it, but the Woman dy'd,

VII.

On the Monument of the Honourable ROBERT DIGBY, and of his Sifter MARY, erected by their Father the LORD DIGBY, in the Church of Sherborne in Dorfetfhire, 1727.

G

O! fair Example of untainted youth,

Of modeft wisdom, and pacific truth: Compos'd in fufferings, and in joy fedate, Good without noife, without pretenfion great. Juft of thy word, in every thought fincere, Who knew no wish but what the world might hear: Of foftest manners, unaffected mind,

Lover of peace, and friend of human kind:

Go,

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