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11.

ON SIR WILLIAM TRUMBALL, One of the principal Secretaries of State to King William III. who, having resigned his place, died in his retirement at Easthamstead, in Berkshire, 1716. A

PLEASING form ; a firm, yet cautious mind; Sincere, though prudent; constant, yet resign’d: Honor unchang'd, a principle profest, Fix'd to one side, but mod'rate to the rest ; An honest courtier, yet a patriot too ; Just 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 gen'rous faith, from superstition 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 Oxfordshire, 1720. To this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art ! draw near; Here lies the friend most lov'd, the son most 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 sorrows, mix his own!

IV.

ON JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ.

In Westminster-Abbey.

JACOBUS CRAGGS,
Regis magnæ Britanniæ a secretis

et consiliis sanctioribus,
Principis pariter ac populi amor et delicia:

Vixit titulis et invidia major

Annos, heu paucos, xxxv.
OB. FEB. XVI. M.DCC.XX.

Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,
In action faithful, and in honor clear !
Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end,
Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend;
Ennobled by himself, by all approv’d,
Prais’d, wept, and honor’d, by the Mușę he lov’d.

V.

INTENDED FOR MR. ROWE,

In Westminster-Abbey. Tuy reliques, Rowe! to this fair urn we trust, And sacred, place by Dryden's awful dust : Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies, To which thy torrib shall guide inquiring eyes. Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest! Bless’d 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 sad shrine we trust,
And near thy Shakespeare place thy honor'd bust,
Oh, next him, skill'd to draw the tender tear,
For never heart felt passion more sincere;
To nobler sentiment to fire the brave,
For never Briton more disdain'd a slave.
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest;
Blest in thy genius, in thy love, too, blest !
And, blest, that, timely from our scene remov'd,
Thy soul enjoys the liberty it lov’d.
To these so mourn'd in death, so lov'd in life;
The childless parent and the widow'd wife,
With tears inscribes this monumental stone,
That holds their ashes and expects her own.

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ere rests a woman, good without pretence, Bless'd with plain reason and with sober sense : No

conquest she but o'er herself desir’d,
No arts essay'd but not to be admir’d.
Passion and pride were to her soul unknown,
Convinc'd that virtue only is our own.
So unaffected, so compos'd a mind;
So firm, yet soft, so strong, yet so refin'd ;

Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures try'd;
The saint sustain'd it, but the woman dy'd.

VII. ON THE MONUMENT OF THE HON.

ROBERT DIGBY, AND OF HIS SISTER
MARY,

Erected by their father the Lord Digby, in the church of Sher

borne, in Dorsetshire, 1727. Go ! fair example of untainted youth, Of modest wisdom, and pacific truth; Compos'd in suff'rings, and in joy sedate, Good without noise, without pretension great : Just of thy word, in ev'ry thought sincere, Who knew no wish but what the world might hear : Of softest manners, unaffected mind, Lover of peace, and friend of human kind! Go, live ! for Heav'n's eternal year is thine ; Go, and exalt thy moral to divine.

And thou, bless'd maid ! attendant on his doom, Pensive hast follow'd to the silent tomb, Steer'd the same course to the same quiet shore, Not parted long, and now to part no more ! Go then, where only bliss sincere 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 !

VIII.

ON SIR GODFREY KNELLER,

In Westminster Abbey, 1723. Kneller, by Heav'n, and not a master taught, Whose art was Nature, and whose pictures Thought; Now for two ages having snatch'd from Fate Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great, Lies crown'd with princes' honors, poet's 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.

IX.. ON GENERAL HENRY WITHERS,

In Westminster-Abbey, 1729. HERE, Withers! rest ; thou bravest, gentlest

mind,
Thy country's friend, but more of human kind.
Oh, born to arms! O worth in youth approv'd!
O soft humanity, in age belov'd!
For thee the hardy vetran drops a tear,
And the gay courtier feels the sigh sincere.

Withers ! adieu ; yet not with thee remove
Thy martial spirit, or thy social love!
Amidst corruption, luxury and rage,
Still leave some antient virtues to our age;
Nor let us say (those English glories gone)
The last true Briton lies beneath this stone.

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