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The gate of envy now is clos'd on thee,
And fame her hundred doors shall open free;
Ages unborn shall celebrate the page,

Where friendly join the satirist and sage ;
O'er Yorick's tomb the brightest eyes shall weep,
And British genius mournful vigils keep;

Then, sighing, say, to vindicate thy fame,
"Great were his faults, but glorious was his fame.”

Hales-Owen Church Yard, Shropshire.

ON WILLIAM SHENSTONE, Esq.
Died Feb. 11, 1763.

Whoe'er thou art, with rev'rence tread
The sacred mansions of the dead.-

Not that the monumental bust,

Or sumptuous tomb, here guards the dust
Of rich or great: (let wealth, rank, birth,
Sleep undistinguish'd in the earth!)
This simple urn records a name,
That shines with more exalted fame.
Reader! if genius, taste refin'd,

A native elegance of mind;

If virtue, science, manly sense;
If wit, that never gave offence;
The clearest head, the tenderest heart,
In thy esteem e'er claim'd a part,
Ah! smite thy breast, and drop a tear,

For, know, thy Shenstone's dust lies here!

57

On a Miser.

Here lies one who for medicines wou'd not give
A little gold, and so his life he lost;
I fancy now he'd wish again to live,

Cou'd he but guess how much his funeral cost.

Bunhill-Fields Burying Ground.

ON Dr. ISAAC WATTS,

Died 1748,

To real merit due, this humble song,

WATTS (now no more) to thee be sacred long.
Sweet were thy numbers, as thy soul was great;
In virtue rich, with piety replete :

In vain, to thee vice sounds her soft alarms,
In vain she spreads her gay alluring charms:
Thy steady zeal the wiley foe o'erthrew,

And gave her veil'd deformity to view.

From thee our youths enlarg'd their op'ning views,
Learn'd heav'nly truths, and reason's proper use:
With vary'd beauties grac'd, thy tuneful lyre,
To charm, deter, correct, improve, inspire
From tort'ring fears the soul depress'd to free,
E'en David's strains receiv'd new charms from thee.

In haste to aid, but in resentment slow,

An ardent friend, and quick-forgiving foe :

Oh! may thy soul! now loos'd from mortal clay,
Wing its swift flight to realms of endless day;
There all its glories, all its joys improve,
In scenes of perfect purity and love.

ON BISHOP BURNET.

Inserted that it may be known into what a monster the prejudices of party can transform a great and pious character.

Here Sarum lies, of late so wise,

And learn'd as Tom Aquinas ;

Lawn sleeves he wore, but was no more

A Christian than Socinus :

Oaths pro and con he swallow'd down,

Lov'd gold like any layman;

Wrote, preach'd and pray'd, and yet betray'd
God's holy word for mammon:

Of every vice he had a spice,

Although a reverend prelate;

And liv'd and died, if not belied,
A true dissenting zealot :

If such a soul to Heaven should stroll,
And 'scape old Satan's clutches;
We then presume there may be room
For Marlborough and his Duchess.

This prelate, equally famous in his political and theological capacity, has been described not unhappily, as “ a man of some parts and great industry, moderate in his notions of church discipline, inquisitive, meddling, vain and credulous," but, it ought to be added, honest, disinterested, and sincere.

When he was presented to Charles II. by the duke of Lau. derdale, he said to his Majesty, "Sir, I bring a person to you who is not capable of forgetting any thing," the King replied, Then, my Lord, you and I have the more reason to take care what we say to him, or before him."

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On the Clerk of a Country Parish.

Here lies within this tomb so calm,
Old Giles: pray sound his knell;
Who thought no song was like a psalm,
No music like a bell.

Dereham Church, Norfolk.

In memory of

MARY

(Widow of the Rev. Morley Unwin, and mother of the Rev. William Cawthorne Unwin), born at Ely 1724. buried in this Church 1796.

Trusting in God, with all her heart and mind,
This woman prov'd magnanimously kind;
Endur'd affliction's desolating hail,

And watch'd a poet thro' misfortune's vale.

Her spotless dust, angelic guards, defend!
It is the dust of Unwin, Cowper's friend!
That single title in itself is fame,

For all, who read his verse, revere her name.

A Tribute to the late ingenious and amiable artist William Woollett, the celebrated engraver. Engrav'd by genius on the human heart Woollett thy works shall stand without a stain; And tho' the great original is gone

The first impression ever shall remain.

INSCRIPTION.

For the Apartment in Chepstow-Castle, where Henry Marten the Regicide was imprisoned Thirty Years.

For thirty years secluded from mankind

Here Marten linger'd. Often have these walls
Echoed his footsteps, as with even tread
He paced around his prison. Not to him
Did Nature's fair varieties exist:

He never saw the sun's delightful beams,
Save when thro' yon high bars it pour'd a sad
And broken splendor. Dost thou-ask his crime?
He had rebell'd against the king, and sat
In judgement on him; for his ardent mind
Shaped goodliest plans of happiness on earth,
And peace and liberty. Wild dreams! but such

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