Grosvenor Chapel, South Audley Street. The remains of JOHN WILKES, A friend to liberty; Born at London, Oct. 17, 1727, O. S. On the 10th of May 1768, the populace had assembled in great numbers about the neighbourhood of the King's Bench Prison, where Mr. Wilkes was in confinement, for having reprinted and published the famous No. 45 of the North Briton. The justices ordered the riot act to be read; but whilst it was reading, stones and brickbats being flung, the soldiers on duty received orders to fire, and a youth, the son of Mr. Allen, master of the Horse-shoe inn, in Blackman-street, whose curiosity had drawn him to the spot, was killed. He was it seems a young man of an inoffensive character, and was pursued by some soldiers, to an out-house of his father's and there slaughtered, in vain imploring mercy, and protesting he had been guilty of no offence;-Several other persons were wounded. St. Mary, Newington Butts. Sacred To the memory of WILLIAM ALLEN, An Englishman of unspotted life And amiable disposition, Who was inhumanly murdered near St. George's Fields, on the 10th day of May, 1768, by Scottish detachments From the army. His disconsolate parents, In his 20th year, as a monument of East End. O earth, Cover not thou my blood, &c. South End. O disembodied soul, most rudely driv'n From this low orb (our sinful seat) to heav'n, While filial piety can please the ear, Thy name will still occur, for ever dear; This very spot, now humaniz'd, shall crave O flow'r of flow'rs, which we shall see no more, West End. Take away the wicked from before the king, and his throne shall be established in righteousness. Prov. ch. xxv. ver. 5. Hampstead. ON THE HON. MISS ELIZABETH BOOTH, Heav'nward directed all her days, To make her lov'd, esteem'd, admir'd; The saint may sleep, but cannot die. On Henry Booth, an infant son, died 1748, ånd Nathaniel Booth, died 1757, aged 12 years. Rest undisturb'd, ye much lamented pair, Ah! what avails it, that the blossoms shoot, If death's chill hand shall miss their infant bloom, Yet weep not if in life's a lotted share, Swift fled their youth-"They know not age's care." ON SIR WILLIAM WALLACE. Death, the stern tyrant of our globe, Stern death has snatch'd him from our eyes; Tho' he this meaner world has left, His glorious actions still shine bright, Less cruel to this foe you'd been, Nor acted so severe : K Nor wou'd you've scatter'd thro' His limbs expos'd to shame, your land Nor by his death your honour stain'd, Nought by thy cruelty didst thou gain, But sullied all thy praise; And now the infamy is thine, While he is crown'd with bays. Edward I. king of England was made umpire to decide the rival claims of Bruce and Baliol to the crown of Scotland, 1290. Edward was arttul, brave, enterprising, and commanded a powerful and martial people-he demanded possession of the kingdom, that he might be able to deliver it to him whose right should be found preferable. And such was the pusillanimity of the nobles, and the impatient ambition of the competitors, that both assented to this strange demand. Baliol was placed on the throne of Scotland, as a vassal of Edward's; but at last provoked by Edward's haughtiness even his passive spirit began to mutiny. But Edward who had no longer use for such a pageant king, forced him to resign the crown, and openly attempted to seize it as fallen to himself, by the rebellion of his vassal. At that critical period, arose sir William Wallace, a hero, to whom the fond admiration of his countrymen hath ascribed many fabulous acts of prowess, though his real valour, as well as integrity and wisdom, was such, as need not the hightenings of fiction. He, almost single, ventured to take arms in defence of the kingdom, and his boldness revived the spirit of his countrymen. However inconsiderable his army might be, whereof he had the command, he made so wonderful a progress that one does not know which to admire most, the boldness of his enterprize, or the success it was at first attended with.--All those that longed for liberty, finding there |