Steer'd the same course to the same quiet shore, Not parted long, and now to part no more! Yet take these tears, mortality's relief, ΚΑ ON SIR GODFREY KNELLER, NELLER, by heaven, and not a master, taught, Now for two ages having snatch'd from fate Living, great nature fear'd he might outvie In Westminster Abbey, 1729.: ERE, Withers, rest! thou bravest, gentleşt mind, For thee the hardy vet'ran drops a tear, Thy martial spirit, or thy social love! Amidst corruption, luxury, and rage, ON MR. ELIJAH FENTON, THIS modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say,' Here lies an honest man:' A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate, Whom Heaven kept sacred from the proud and great: Content with science in the vale of peace, Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear; ON MR. GAY, In Westminster Abbey, 1732. F manners gentle, of affections mild; OF In wit, a man; simplicity, a child: With native humour temp'ring virtuous rage, And uncorrupted, ev'n among the great: But that the worthy and the good shall say, ANOTHER. WELL then, poor Gay lies under ground, So there's an end of honest Jack: So little justice here he found, 'Tis ten to one he 'll ne'er come back. INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON, ISAACUS NEWTONUS: Quem Immortalem Testantur Tempus, Natura, Cœlum: Hoc Marmor Fatetur. NATURE and nature's laws lay hid in night: God said, Let Newton be!' and all was light. ON DR. FRANCIS ATTERBURY, BISHOP OF ROCHESTER. Who died in Exile in Paris, 1732. [His only Daughter having expired in his arms, immediately after she arrived in France to see him.] DIALOGUE. ES, we have liv'd--one pang, and then we part! She. YES, May heaven, dear father! now have all thy heart. Yet, ah! how once we lov'd, remember still, He. Dear shade! I will: Then mix this dust with thine-O spotless ghost!} O more than fortune, friends, or country lost! Is there on earth one care, one wish beside? Yes. Save my country, heaven,'--He said, and died. ON EDMUND DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, And ev'ry opening virtue blooming round, FOR ONE WHO WOULD NOT BE BURIED IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. HER EROES and kings! your distance keep, Who never flatter'd folks like you: Let Horace blush, and Virgil too. ANOTHER ON THE SAME. UNDER this marble, or under this sill, ; Or under this turf, or e'en what they will Whatever an heir, or a friend in his stead, Or any good creature shall lay o'er my head, Lies one who ne'er car'd, and still cares not a pin, What they said, or may say, of the mortal within; But who, living and dying, serene still and free, Trusts in God, that as well as he was, he shall be. LORD CONINGSBY'S EPITAPH*. HERE lies Lord Coningsby---be civil; The rest God knows---so does the devil. ON BUTLER'S MONUMENT. Perhaps by Mr. Popet. RESPECT to Dryden, Sheffield justly paid, And noble Villers honour'd Cowley's shade: But whence this Barber?--that a name so mean Should, join'd with Butler's, on a tomb be seen: This Epitaph, originally written on Picus Mirandula, is applied to F. Chartres, and printed among the works of Swift. See Hawkesworth's edition, vol. vi. S. † Mr. Pope, in one of the prints from Scheemaker's monument of Shakespeare in Westminster Abbey, has sufficiently shown his contempt of Al derman Barber, by the following couplet, which is |