BY BEN JONSON.
WHAT beauty would have lovely styl❜d,
What manners pretty, nature mild,
What wonder perfect, all were fill'd
Upon record in this blest child.
And till the coming of the soul
To fetch the flesh, we keep the roll.
And if I had no more to say,
But here doth lay till the last day
All that is left of PHILIP GRAY,
It might your patience richly pay:
For if such men as he could die,
What surety of life have you and I?
ASK not who ended here his span ;
His name, reproach and praise! was MAN.
Did no great deeds adorn his course?
No deeds of his but show'd him worse,
One thing was great, which God supply'd,
He suffer'd human life, and dy'd.
What points of knowledge did he gain?
That life was sacred all-and vain.
Sacred, how high—and vain, how low-
He knew not here,—but dy'd to know.
WELL then, poor GAY lies underground!
So there's an end of honest Jack!
So little justice here he found,
'Tis ten to one he'll ne'er come back.
I was as yee be, now in dust and clay,
Have mercy on my sowl yat bowght hit with yi
blodde,
For ELISABETH of Cherite a paternoster say,
Sumtymes I was the wyff of EDMONDE POODDe.
ST. PAUL'S CATHEDRAL.
ON SIR PHILIP SIDNEY, Knt.
Who received his Death at a Battle near Zutphen, in Gel-ƒ derland, September 22, 1586.
England, Netherland, the Heavens, and the Arts,
The Souldiers and the World have made sixe parts
Of noble Sidney; for who will suppose,
That a small heape of stones can Sidney inclose!
England hath his body, for she it fed ;
Netherland his bloud, in her defence shed:
The Heavens have his soule, the Arts have his fame,
The Souldiers the griefe, the Worlde his good name.
EDMUND, DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
Who died in the 19th Year of his Age, 1735.
By Pope.
IF modest youth, with cool reflection crown'd,
And every 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.
The following Lines, on the above Nobleman, I met with in Manuscript; but I do not know the Author.
HAIL, Patriot Youth! lost in life's bloom,
In virtue's shrine with honour sleep;
While at the consecrated tomb
The Muses and the Graces weep.
But never shall thy mem'ry die,
All at thy urn shall that revere;
Who honours worth, shall heave a sigh,
Who Britain loves, shall drop a tear.
a yard deep or more,
That never lay quiet or silent before.
Her head always working, her tongue always
prating,
And the pulse of her heart continually beating,
To the utmost extremes of loving and hating.
Her reason and humour were always at strife,
And yet she perform'd all the duties of life,
An excellent friend, and a pretty good wife.
So indulgent a lover, that no man could say
Whether PATTY or MINTA did rule or obey,
For the government changed some ten times a day.
At the hour of her birth some lucky star gave her
Wit and beauty enough to have lasted for ever,
But Fortune still froward where Nature is kind,
A narrow estate maliciously join'd
To a truly great genius and right noble mind.
Her body was built of such superfine clay,
That at length it grew brittle for want of allay :
Her soul then too busy on some foreign affair,
Of its own pretty dwelling took so little care,
That the tenement fell for want of repair.
Now far be from hence the fool and the knave,
But let all that pretend to be witty or brave,
Whether generous friend, or amorous slave
Contribute some tears to water her grave.
TAKE heed, O good trav❜ller, and do not tread hard, For here lies Dr. STR-TF-RD, in all this church yard.
ST. PETER'S, NORWICH.
HERE lyeth JOHN BRIGGE, under this marbil ston, Whos sowle our Lord Jesu have mercy upon;
For in this worlde, worthily he lived many a day, And here hys bodi ys beried, and cowched under clay. Lo! frendis fre, whatever ye be, pray for me, I you
As ye may se, in soch degre, so schal ye be, another day.
OLD GREY FRIERS, EDInburgh.
Who died December 24, 1667, aged 56.
GREAT artisan, grave senator, JoHN MILNE,
Renown'd for learning, prudence, parts, and skill;
Who in his life VITRUVIUS' art had shown,
Adorning other monuments; his own
Can have no other beauty than his name,
His memory, and everlasting fame.
Rare man he was, who could unite in one,
Highest and lowest occupation;
To sit with statesmen, counsellor to kings,
To work with tradesmen in mechanic things,
Majestic man, for person, wit, and grace,
This generation cannot fill his place.
Reader, JOHN MILNE, who maketh the fourth JOHN,
And by descent from father unto son,
Sixth master-mason to a royal race
Of seven successive kings, sleeps in this place.
|