To Mr. THOMAS SOUTHERN,
On his Birth-day, 1742.
R
ESIGN'D to live, prepar'd to die,
With not one fin, but poetry,
This day Tom's fair Account has run
(Without a blot) to eighty-one.
Kind Boyle, before his poet, lays
A table, with a cloth of bays;
And Ireland, mother of fweet fingers,
Prefents her harp ftill to his fingers.
The feaft, his towering genius marks
In yonder wild-goofe and the larks!
The mushrooms fhew his wit was fudden !
And for his judgment, lo a pudden !
Roaft beef, though old, proclaims him ftout,
Aud grace, although a bard, devout.
May Tom, whom Heaven fent down to raise
The price of prologues and of plays,
Be every birth-day more a winner,
Digeft his thirty-thoufandth dinner;
Walk to his grave without reproach
And fcorn a rafcal and a coach.
"His faltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani "Munere !"
I.
On CHARLES Earl of DORSET,
In the Church of Withyam in Suffex.
DORSE
ORSET, the Grace of Courts, the Mufes' Pride,
Patron of Arts, and judge of Nature, dy'd.
The fcourge 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 so 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 fhine,
And Patrons ftill, or Poets, deck the Line.
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 East-hamsted in Berkfhire, 1716.
A Pleafing Form; a firm, yet cautious Mind ;
Sincere, though prudent; conftant, yet refign'd: Honour unchang'd, a Principle profeft,
Fix'd to one fide, but moderate to the rest:
An honeft Courtier, yet a Patriot too;
Juft to his Prince, and to his Country true:
Fill'd with the Sense 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.
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 Reafon, Eloquence how weak!
If Pope muft tell what HARCOURT cannot speak.
Oh let thy once-lov'd Friend inferibe thy Stone,
And, with a Father's forrows, mix his own!
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 broke no Promise, serv'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.
TH
HY reliques, Rowe, to this fair Urn we trust,
And facred, place by Dryden's awful dust :
Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies,
To which thy Tomb shall 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 supplies
What a whole thankless land to his denies.
VARIATION.
It is as follows on the Monument in the Abbey erected to Rowe and his Daughter.
Thy Reliques, RowE! to this fad shrine 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 slave.
Peace to thy gentle fhade, and endless reft;
Bleft in thy genius, in thy love too blest!
And bleft, that, timely from our scene remov'd,
Thy foul enjoys the liberty it lov'd.
To these 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 afhes and expects her own.
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