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Bid them in Duty's Sphere as meekly move;
And if fo fair, from Vanity as free;
As firm in Friendship, and as fond in Love.
Tell them, tho' 'tis an awful Thing to die.
('Twas ev'n to thee) yet the dread Path once trod,
Heav'n lifts its everlasting Portals high,
And bids the “Pure in Heart behold their God:”
On the Countefs Dowager of Pembroke.
UNDERNEATH this Marble Hearle
of all Verse, Sydney's Sister, Pembroke's Mother
; Death, ere thou haft kill'd another, Fair and learn'd, and good as she, Time shall throw a Dart at Thee.
An EPITAPH by Ben. JOHNSON.
NDERNEATH this Stone doth lie
Which when alive did Vigour give
To as much Beauty as cou'd live.
On Sir Godfrey Kneller. POPE.
NELLER, by Heav'n, and not a Master taught,
Whose Art was Nature, and whose Pictures
Now for two Ages having snatch'd from Fate
Whate'er was Beauteous, or whate'er was Great,
Rests crown'd with Princes Honours, Poets Lays
Due to his Merit, and brave Thirft of Praise.
Living, great Nature fear'd he might outvie
Her Works; and dying, fears herself may die.
On the Czar Peter the Great PLAIN DEALER.
Here under Deposited
Lies All that cou'd die, of a Man Immortal,
It is almost superfluous to add
GREAT EMPEROR OF RUSSIA :
A Title !
Which, instead of adding to his Glory,
Became Glorious by His wearing it.
Let Antiquity be dumb,
Nor boast her ALEXANDER,
Or her CÆSAR.
How ea'y was Victory
To Leaders, who were followed by Heroes !
And whose Soldiers felt a noble Disdain,
To be thought less awake than their Generals !
Who, in this place, first knew Rest,
Found Subjects Base, and Unactive,
Unwarlike, Unlearn'd, Untractable,
Neither covetous of Fame,
Nor liberal of Danger;
Creatures, with the Names of Men,
But with Qualities rather Brutal than Rational :
Yet, even These
He polish'd from their native Ruggedness,
And, breaking out, like a New Sun.
To illuminate the Minds of a People, Dispelld their Night of Hereditary Darkness :
'Till, by Force of his invincible Influence.
He taught them to conquer
Even the Conquerors of Germany.
Other Princes have commanded victorious Armies,
This Commander created them!
Blush, O ART!
At a Hero, who ow'd Thee Nothing.
Exult, O NATURE!
For Thine' was this Prodigy.
The Infcription on Shakespear's Monument, taken from
HE Cloud-capt Towers, the gorgeous Palaces,
The folemn Temples, the great Globe itself;
Yea, all which it inherit, shall dissolve,
And like the baseless Fabric of a Vision,
Leave not a Wreck behind.
Ode to Charity, By Mifs H. More.
CHARITY, divinely Wise,
Thou meek-ey'd Daughter of the Skies !
From the pure Fountain of eternal Light,
Where fair, immutable, and ever bright,
The beatific Vision shines,
And Angel with Archangel joins
In choral Songs to sing his Praise,
PARENT OF LIFE, ANCIENT OF DAYS!
Who was ere Time existed, and shall be
Thro' the wide Round of vast Eternity.
O come, thy warm Benevolence impart,
Enlarge my Feelings, and expand my Heart !
II. O thou,
Othou, enthron'd in Realms above,
Bright Emuence of that boundless Love, Whence Joy and Peace in Streams unsullied flow, deign to make thy lov'd Abode below!
Tho'sweeter Strains pour'd from my Tongue,
Than Saint conceiv'd, or Seraph sung,
And tho' my glowing Fancy caught
Whatever Art or Nature taught,
Yet, if this hard unfeeling Heart of mine
Ne'er felt thy Force, O CHARITY divine !
An empty Shadow Science would be found,
My Knowledge Ignorance, my Wit a Sound.
Tho' my prophetic Spirit knew
To bring Futurity to View,
Without thy aid e'en this would nought avail,
For Tongues hall cease, and Prophecies fhall fail:
Come then, thou sweet celestial Guest,
Shed thy soft Influence o'er my Breast,
Bring with thee FAITH divinely bright,
And HOPE, fair Harbinger of Light,
To clear each Milt with their pervading Ray,
To fit my Soul for Heav'n, and point the Way,
Where perfect Happiness her Sway maintains,
For there the GOD OF PEACE for ever, ever reigns.
Virtue the only Nobility.
LET Highrebirth triumph! What can be more
Nothing-but Merit in a low Eftate.
To Virtue's humblest Son let none prefer
Vice, tho' descended from the Conqueror.
Shall Men, like Figures, pass for high, or base,
Slight or important, only by their Place ?
Titles are Marks of honeft Men and wife :
The Fool, or Knave, that wears a Title, lyes,
Nothing is meaner than a Wretch of State,
* The Good and Pious are the only Great.
* There is a small Alteration here.
E Vain ! defist from your erroneous Strife;
Be wise, and quit the false Sublime of Life.
The true Ambition there alone resides,
Where Justice dictates, and where Wisdom guides ;
Where inward Dignity joins outwård State,
Our Purpose good, as our Atchievement great ;
Where public Blessings public Praise attend,
Where Glory is our Motive, not our End.
Would'it thou be fam'd? Keep those high Deeds in
Brave Men would act, tho' Scandal should ensue.
The pursuit of Fame, YOUNG.
7 HAT can be emptier than the Chace of
How vain the Prize ? how impotent our Aim?