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But that the worthy and the good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosomsHere lies Gay.

XII.

INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON.

In Westminster-Abbey.

ISAACUS NEWTONUS:

Quem Immortalem
Testantur Tempus, Natura, Cælum :

Mortalem

Hoc Marmor Fatetur.
Nature, and Nature's laws lay hid in night ;
God said, Let Newton be ! and all was light.

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SHE. Yes, we have livd-One pang, and then we part! May heav'n, dear Father ! now have all thy heart, Yet, ah! how once we lov'd, remember still, Till you are dust like me.

HE.

Dear shade! I will: Then mix this dust with thine - spotless ghost! O more than fortune, friends, or country lost ! Is there on earth one care, one wish beside ? Yes-- Save my COUNTRY, HEAV’n,

-He said, and dy'd.

XIV. ON EDMUND DUKE OT BUCKINGHAM,

Who died in the Nineteenth year of his age, 1735.

I, modest youth, with cool reflection crown'd,
And ev'ry op'ning virtue blooming round,
Could save a parent's justest pride from fate,
Or add one patriot to a sinking state ;
This weeping marble had not ask'd thy tear,
Or sadly told how many hopes lie here !
The living virtue now had shone approv'd,
The senate heard him, and his country lov'd.
Yet softer honours, and less noisy fame
Attend the shade of gentle Buckingham ;
In whom a race,

fam'd and art,
Ends in the milder merit of the heart
And chiefs, or sages, long to Britain givin,
Pays the last tribute of a saint to heav'n.

for courage

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XV. FOR ONE WHO WOULD NOT BE

BURIED IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY.

Heroes and kings! your distance keep;
In
peace

let one poor poet sleep, Who never flatter'd folks like you ; Let Horace blush, and Virgil too.

XVI. 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.

XVII. LORD CONINGSBY'S EPITAPH*.

Here lies Lord Coningsby—be civil;
The rest God knowsso does the Devil.

* This epitaph, originally written on Picus Mirandula, is applied to F. Chartres, and printed among the works of Swift. Set Hawksworth's edition, Vol. VI. S.

END OF

III.

Printed by S. Hollingsworth, Crane-Court, Fleet Street.

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