POPE.

buft.

On Mr. Gay.

POPE.

OF manners gentle, of affections mild;

In wit a man, fimplicity a child;
With native humour temp'ring virtuous rage,
Form'd to delight at once and lash the age :
Above temptation in a low estate,

And uncorrupted cv'n among the great:
A fafe companion, and an eaty friend,
Unblam'd thro' life, lamented in his end.
These are thy honours! not that here thy buft
Is mix'd with heroes, or with kings thy duft;
But that the worthy and the good thall fay,
Striking their penfive bofoms-Here lies Gay.

To Aaron Hill, Esq.

S: RICHARDSON.

Infeription on an Urn at Lord Corke's to the Me

mory of the Dog Hector.

STRANGER, behold the mighty Hector's tomb!
See! to what end both dogs and heroes come.
Thefe are the honours by his mafter paid
To Hector's manes and lamented fhade:
Nor words nor honours can enough commend
The focial dog-nay more, the faithful friend!
From nature all his principles he drew;
His looks and voice his inward thoughts ex-
By nature faithful, vigilant, and true;
prefs'd;

He growl'd in anger, and in love carefs'd.
No human falfehood lurk'd beneath his heart;

Brave without boafting, gen'rous without art. When Hector's virtues man, proud man, difplays,

Truth shall adorn his tomb with Hector's praise.

On a Parish Clerk. HERE lies, within his tomb, fo calm, Old Giles: pray found his knell; Who thought no fong was like a pfalın,

No mufic like a bell.

On an old Woman who fold Pots at Chefter.

BENEATH this ftone lies Cath'rine Gray,
Chang'd to a lifeless lump of clay :

By earth and clay fhe got her pelf,
Yet now fhe's turn'd to earth herself.
Ye weeping friends, let me advise,
Abate your grief, and dry your eyes;
For what avails a flood of tears?
Who knows but in a run of years,
In fome tall pitcher, or broad pan,
She in her fhep may be again?

unite,

To give to kindred excellence its right,
Tho' unincumber'd with the clogs of rhyme,
Where tinkling founds for want of meaning chime,
Which, like the rock in Shannon's midway
course,

Divide the fenfe, and interrupt its force;

Well

may we judge fo Itrong and clear a rill Flows higher from the mutes' facred Hill.

Thy country's friend, but more of human-kind!
O born to arms! O worth in youth approv'd!
O foft humanity, in age belov'd!
For thee the hardy vet ran drops a tear,
And the gay courtier feels the figh fincere.
Withers, adieu! yet not with thee remove
Thy martial fpirit, or thy focial love!
Amidit corruption, luxury, and rage,
Still leave fome ancient virtues to our age:
Nor let us fay, thofe English glories gone,
The laft true Briten lies beneath this ftone.

On Sir Ifaac Newton.

The fon, fair-rifing, knew too fhort a date! But O! how more fevere the parent's fatel He faw him torn untimely from his fide, Felt all a father's anguith, wept, and died.

HER

On a young Lady.

ERE innocence and beauty lie, whofe breub Was fnatch'd by early, not untimely, death. Hence did the go just as the did begin Sorrow to know, before the knew to fin. Death, that does fin and forrow thus prevent, Is the next bleffing to a life well spent.

On an Infant.

vine,

Scon I hafted, from the womb;
Scarce the dawn of life began,
Ere I meafur'd out my span.

I no fmiling pleafures know;
I no gay delights could view :
Joylets fojourner was I,
Only born to weep and die.

Happy infant, carly blefs'd!
Reft, in peaceful flun.ber reft;
Early refcued from the cares
Which increafe with growing years,

No delights are worth thy ftay, Smiling as they feem, and gay; Short and fickly are they all, Hardly tafted cre they pall.

All our gaiety is vain,

All our laughter is but pain
Lafting only, and divine,
Is an innocence like shine.

To the Memory of Mrs. Catharine Shuckburgh, robo died at Bath, March 22, 1764.

life,

REMOV'D from all the pains and cares of
Here rests the pleasing friend and faithful wife:
Ennobled by the virtues of her mind :
Conftant to goodnefs, and in death refign'd:
Who plac'd true practice in a wife retreat,
Privately pious; and unknown, tho' great;
Sure, in the filent fabbath of the grave,
To tafte that tranquil peace the always gave.
O early-loft, in virtue's faireft prime!
Thy pietics fupplied life's want of time.
No death is fudden to a foul prepar'd-
When God's own hour brings always God's

reward.

Epitaph on Mifs Drummond, in the Church of Brodforth, York/bire. MASON.

HERE fleeps what once was beauty, once was

grace;

Grace, that with tendernefs and fenfe combin'd
To form that harmony of foul and face,
Where beauty fhines the mirror of the mind.
Such was the maid, that in the morn of youth,
In virgin innocence, in nature's pride,
Bleft with cach art that owes its charm to truth,
Sunk in her father's fond embrace, and died.
He weeps: O venerate the holy tear!
Faith lends her aid to eafe affliction's load
The parent mourns his child upon the bier,
The chriftian yields an angel to his God.

GRAY.

Epitaph on Mrs. Clarke. LO! where this filent marble weeps,

A friend, a wife, a mother fleeps; A heart, within whofe facred cell Afcction warm, and faith fincere, The peaceful virtues lov'd to dwell. And foft humanity were there.

In agony, in death refign'd,

She felt the wound the left behind.
Her infant image, here below,
Sits fimiling on a father's woc:
Whom what awaits, while yet he strays
Along the lonely vale of days?
A pang to fecret forrow dear;
A figh, an unavailing tear,

Till time fhall ev'ry grief remove,
With life, with mem'ry, and with love.

;

X 2.

A kindling paffion ev'ry breaft alarms,

Each tongue proclaims the triumph of her charms. But when, retir'd amidft their rural bow'rs,

On a Difpute between Dr. Radcliffe and & Godfrey Kneller.

Or, fmiling, fits her infant tribe among,
And guides to virtue's paths the lift'ning throng:
Behold, amidst these pleafing cares of life,
The tender mother, and th' engaging wife!
More jeft applaufe thefe humbler virtues fhare,
And Portia fhines-as good as she is fair.

But ah! the glittering joys of life are fhort! How oft two jostling fteeds have fpoil'd the fport! Lo! thus attraction, by coercive laws,

Th' approaching drops into one bubble draws.

Each curs'd his fate, that thus their project crofs'd;

How hard their lot, who neither won nor loft!

Into one common garden-and each had a key. Quoth Kneller," I'll certainly ftop up that door, If ever I find it unlock'd any more."" "Your threats," replies Radcliffe, “ difturb za my eafe;

"And fo you don't paint it, e'en do what you "pleafe."

"You're fimart," rejoins Kneller; " but, fay what "you will,

"I'll take any thing from you-but potion or pili."

drefs,

In hieroglyphic drefs,
To give men pains in fearch of it,

And please themselves with guess.
Moderns, to hit the felf-fame path,

And exercise their parts,
Place figures in a room at Bath:
Forgive them, God of Arts!
Newton, if I can judge aright,

All Wisdom does express;
His knowledge gives mankind delight,
Adds to their happiness.

Pope is the emblem of true Wit,

The funthine of the mind;
Read o'er his works in fearch of it,
You'll endief's pleasure find.
Nafh reprefents man in the mafs,
Made up of wrong and right;
Sometimes a king, fometimes an afs;
Now blunt, and now polite.

The picture plac'd the bufts between,
Adds to the thought much ftrength;
Wifdomn and Wit are little feen,
But Folly's at full lengu

A JOLLY, brave toper, who could not forbear, Though his life was in danger, old port and ftale beer,

Gave the doctors the hearing-but ftill would drink on,

Till the dropfy had fwell'd him as big as a ton; The more he tock phyfic the worfe ftill he grew, And tapping was now the last thing he could do. · Affairs at this crifis, and doctors come down, He began to confider-fo fent for his fon. Tom, fee by what courfes I've fhorten'd my life, I'm leaving the world ere I'm forty and five; More than probable 'tis, that in twenty-four hours This manor, this house, and citate will be yours; My early exceffes may teach you this truth, That 'tis working for death to drink hard in one's youth.

Says Tom (who's a lad of a generous fpirit, And not like young rakes, who're in hafte to inherit)

Sir, don't be dishearten'd; altho' it be true, Th' operation is painful, and hazardous too,'Tis no more than what many a man has gone

through.

And then, as for years, you may yet be call'd young, Your life after this may be happy and long. Don't flatter me, Tom, was the father's reply, With a jeft in his mouth, and a tear in his eye: Too well by experience, my veffels, thou know'st, No fooner are tapp'd, but they give up the gloft.

EPIGRAMS from MARTIAL To James Harris, Ef. MARTIAL, Book iv. Ep. 87. WOULDST thou, by Attic tafte approv'd, By all be read, by all be lov'd, To learned Harris' curious eye, By me advis'd, dear Mufe, apply: In him the perfect judge you'll find, In him the candid friend, and kind. If he repeats, if he approves, If he the laughing mufcles moves, Thou nor the critic's fneer fhalt mind, Nor be to pies or trunks confign'd. If he condemns, away you fly, And mount in paper-kites the sky, Or dead 'mongit Grub-street's records lie.

Book iv. Ep. 78.

WITH lace bedizen'd comes the man,

And I muft dine with lady Anne.

A filver fervice loads the board,
Of catables a flender hoard.
"Your pride, and not your victuals, fpare;
"I came to dine, and not to ftare."
Book vii. Ep. 75.

WHEN dukes in town ask thee to dine,

To rule their roaft, and fmack their wine; Or take thee to their country-feat, To mark their dogs, and bless their meat; dream not on preferment foon, Thou'rt not their friend, but their buffoon. Book viii. Ep. 35.

ALIKE in temper and in life,

A drunken husband, fottish wife,
She a fcold, a bully he-
The devil's in't they don't agree.
Book xii. Ep. 23.'
YOUR teeth from Hemmet, and your hair from
Bolney-

Was not an eye to be alfo had for money?
Book xii. Ep. 30.

NE

ED is a fober fellow, they pretendSuch would I have my coachman, not my friend.