His youth and age, his life and death, combine, As in fome great and regular design,
All of a piece throughout, and all divine. Still nearer heaven his virtues fhone more bright, Like rifing flames expanding in their height; The martyr's glory crown'd the foldier's fight. More bravely British general never fell, 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 lofs for time to come His pious widow confecrates this tomb.
Under Mr. MILTON'S Picture, before his Paradife Loft.
THREE Poets, in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.
The first, in loftiness of thought surpass'd; The next, in majesty; in both the last. The force of nature could no further go; To make a third, fhe join'd the former two.
On the MONUMENT of a fair Maiden Lady, whe died at Bath, and is there interred.
ELOW this marble monument is laid All that heaven wants of this celeftial maid.
Preferve, O facred tomb, thy truft confign'd;
The mould was made on purpose for the mind : And fhe would lofe, if, at the latter day,
One atom could be mix'd of other clay. Such were the features of her heavenly face, Her limbs were form'd with fuch harmonious So faultlefs was the frame, as if the whole Had been an emanation of the foul; Which her own inward fymmetry reveal'd; And like a picture fhone, in glass anneal’d. Or like the fun eclips'd, with shaded light : Too piercing, else, to be sustain’d by sight. Each thought was visible that roll'd within : As through a crystal case the figur❜d hours are seen. And heaven did this tranfparent veil provide, Becaufe fhe had no guilty thought to hide.
All white, a virgin-faint, she fought the skies : For marriage, though it fullies not, it dies. High though her wit, yet humble was her mind; As if the could not, or fhe would not find How much her worth tranfcended all her kind. Yet he had learn'd fo much of heaven below, That when arriv'd, the fearce had more to know : But only to refresh the former hint; And read her Maker in a fairer print. So pious, as fhe had no time to fpare For human thoughts, but was confin'd to prayer. Yet in fuch charities fhe pafs'd the day, "Twas wondrous how the found an hour to pray..
A foul fo calm, it knew not ebbs or flows, Which paffion could but curl, not discompofe. A female foftness, with a manly mind: A daughter duteous, and a fifter kind: In fickness patient, and in death relign'd.
EPITAPH on Mrs. MARGARET PASTON, of Burningham, in Norfolk.
O fair, fo young, fo innocent, fo fweet, So ripe a judgment, and fo rare a wit, Require at least an age in one to meet.
In her they met; but long they could not ftay, 'Twas gold too fine to mix without allay. Heaven's image was in her so well exprest, Her very fight upbraided all the rest ; Too justly ravish'd from an age like this, Now fhe is gone, the world is of a piece.
On the MONUMENT of the MARQUIS of WINCHESTER,
HE, who in impious times undaunted food,
And midft rebellion durft be juft and good: Whose arms afferted, and whose sufferings more Confirm'd the caufe for which he fought before; Refts here, rewarded by an heavenly prince; For what his earthly could not recompence.
Pray reader that such times no more appear: Or, if they happen, learn true honour here. Afk of this age's faith and loyalty,
Which, to preferve them, heaven confin'd in thee. Few fubjects could a king like thine deserve : And fewer, fuch a king, so well could serve. Bleft king, bleft fubject, whofe exalted state By fufferings rose, and gave the law to fate. Such fouls are rare, but mighty patterns given To earth, and meant for ornaments to heaven.
EPITAPH upon the Earl of ROCHESTER'S being difmiffed from the Treafury, in 1687.
HERE lies a creature of indulgent fate,
From Tory Hyde rais'd to a chit of state; In chariot now, Elifha like, he's hurl'd To th' upper empty regions of the world: The airy thing cuts through the yielding sky; And as it goes does into atoms fly : While we on earth fee, with no fmall delight, The bird of prey turn'd to a paper kite. With drunken pride and rage he did so well, The hated thing without compaffion fell; By powerful force of univerfal prayer, The ill-blown bubble is now turn'd to air; To his first less than nothing he is gone, By his prepofterous tranfaction!
HAPPY and free, fecurely bleft;
No beauty could disturb my
My amorous heart was in despair, To find a new victorious fair.
Till you, descending on our plains, With foreign force renew my chains; Where now you rule without control The mighty fovereign of my foul.
Your finiles have more of conquering charms, Than all your native country arms: Their troops we can expel with ease,
Who vanquish only when we please.
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