The poets of Great Britain complete from Chaucer to Churchill

But that the worthy and the good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosoms-Here lies Gay.

XII. INTENDED FOR SIR ISAAC NEWTON.
In Westminster-Abbey.

ISAACUS NEWTONUS:
Quem Immortalem

Testantur Tempus, Natura, Cœlum :
Mortalem

Hoc Marmor Fatetur.

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

XIII.

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.]

DIALOGUE.

SHE.

Es, we have liv’d—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-O 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 OF BUCKINGHAM, Who died in the Nineteenth year of his age, 1735.

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

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 knows-so does the Devil.

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

END OF VOL. III.

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

CONTENTS.

MORAL ESSAYS,

In four Epistles.

Epistle I. Of the Knowledge and Charac-

ters of Men

II. Of the Characters of Women

III. Of the Use of Riches

IV. Of the Use of Riches

Epistle to Mr. Addison, occasioned by his

Dialogues on Medals