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Who died of a Cancer in her Breaft.

ERE rests a Woman, good without pretence,
Bleft with plain Reason, and with fober Senfe :
No Conquefts fhe, but o'er herself, 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 so refin'd;
Heaven, as its pureft gold, by Tortures try'd;
The Saint fuftain'd it, but the Woman dy'd.


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.


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 fofteft manners, unaffected mind,

Lover of peace, and friend of human kind:


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:
These little rites, a Stone, a Verse receive;
'Tis all a Father, all a Friend can give!


In Westminster-Abbey, 1723.

KNELLER, by Heaven and not a Master taught,

Whofe Art was Nature, and whofe Pictures


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 Thirst of praise.

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


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


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

THIS 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 Praise, and Friend to learned Ease,
Content with Science in the Vale of Peace,


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


On Mr. G A Y.

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.
Thefe 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 penfive bofoms-Here lies GAY.


WELL then! poor Gay lies under ground,

So there's an end of honeft Jack:

So little juftice here he found,

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

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Intended for Sir ISAAC NEWTON, In Weftminster-Abbey.


Quem Immortalem

Testantur Tempus, Natura, Cœlum:

Hoc marmor fatetur.

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


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.]



YES, 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 duft like me.


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