Page images
PDF
EPUB

“ Has she no faults then, (Envy says) Sir?”

Yes, she has one, I must aver;
When all the world conspires to praise her,

The Woman's deaf, and does not hear.

12

On bis Grotto at Twickenbam, composed of marbles, spars,

gems, ores, and minerals. Thou who shalt stop where Thames' translucent

wave

Shines a broad mirror through the shady cave;
Where ling'ring drops from min'ral roofs distil,
And pointed crystals break the sparkling rill;
Unpolish'd gems no ray on pride bestow,

S.
And latent metals innocently glow;
Approach. Great Nature studiously behold!
And eye the mine, without a wish for gold.
Approach; but awful! lo! th’ Ægerian Grot,
Where, nobly pensive, St. John sat and thought ; 10
Where British sighs from dying Wyndham stole,
And the bright flame was shot thro’ Marchmont's soul.
Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor,
Who dare to love their country, and be poor.' 14

On receiving from the Right Hon. the Lady Frances Shirley,

a standish and two pens. Yes, I beheld th’ Athenian Queen

Descend in all her sober 'charms; " And take,” she said, and smil'd serene,

“ Take at this hand, celestial arms.

[merged small][merged small][ocr errors]

“ Secure the radiant weapons wield;

“ This golden lante shall guard desert; “ And if a vite dares keep the field,

« This steel shall stab it to the heart." Aw'd, on my bended knees I fell,

Receiv'd the weapons of the sky, And dipp'd them in the sable well,

The fount of fame or infamy. “ What well? what weapon?” Flavia cries,

“ A standish, steel, and golden pen!
It came from Bertrand's, not the skies ;

I gave it you to write again.
But, Friend ! take heed whom you attack;

You'll bring a House (I mean of Peers)
Red, blue, and green, nay, white and black,

“ L--- and all about your ears. “ You'd write as smooth again on glass,

« And run on ivory so glib, As not to stick at fool or ass,

“ Nor stop at fạtiery or fib. « Athenian Queen! and sober charms!

“ I tell ye, fool! there's nothing in't : «.'Tis Venus, Venus gives these arms;

In Dryden's Virgil see thre print. Come, if you'll be a quiet soul,

"That dares tell neither truth ner lies, “I'll list you in the harmless roll

“ Of those that sing of these poor ejes."

20

30

32

EPITAPHS

1. On Charles Earl of Dorset, in the church of Withyam, in

Susser.

His saltem accumulem donis, er fun ar inani
Munere!

VIRG.

Dorset, the grace of court's, the Muse's pride,
Patron of arts, and judge of Nature, dy'd;
The scourge of pride, tho' sanctify'd or great,
Of fops in learning, and of knaves in state;
Yet soft his nature, tho' severe his lay,

5
His anger moral, and his wisdom gay,
Bless'd Satirist! who touch'd the mean so true,
As show'd vice had his hale, and pity too.
Bless'd Courtier! who ald king and country please,
Yet sacred keep his friendships and his ease.
Blessid Peer! his great forefathers' ev'ry grace,
Reflecting, and reflected in his race;
Where other Buckhursts, other Dorsets, shine,
And patriots still, or poets, deck the line.

[ocr errors]

II. On Sir William Trumball, one of the principal Secreo

taries of State to King William III. who, baring resigned his place, died in bis retirement at Eastbamstead, in Berksbire, 1716.

5

A pleasing form, a firm, yet cautious mind,
Sincere, tho' prudent, constant, yet resign'd:
Honour 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:
Fillid 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.

10

III. On the Hon. Simon Harcourt, only son of the Lord

Chancellor Harcourt, at the church of Stanton-Harcourt, in Oxfordsbire, 1720.

To this sad shrine, who'er thou art, draw near;
llere 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.

REGI MAGNA BRITANNIA A SECRETIS

ET CONSILIIS SANCTIORIBUS,

PRINCIPIS PARITER AC POPULI AMOR ET DELICIÆ:

VIXIT TITULIS ET INVIDIA MAJOR

ANNOS, HEU TAUCOS, xxxv.

OB. FEB. XVI. M.DCC.XX.

Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,
In action faithful, and in honour 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 honour'd, by the Muse he lov'd.

V. Intended for Mr. Rowe, in Westminster Abbey.

Tuy reliques, Rowe! to this fair urn we trust,
And sacred, place by Dryde:i's awful dust :
Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies,
To which thy tomb shall guide inquiring eyes.
Volume III.

X х

« PreviousContinue »