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'Tis sin produces death; and he had none
As such we lov’d, admir'd, almost ador’d,
Thus was the crime not his, but ours alone:
Hear then, ye mournful parents, and divide
UPON YOUNG MR. ROGERS OF GLOUCESTERSHIRE.
OF gentle blood, his parents only treasure,
Their lasting sorrow, and their vanish'd pleasure, Adorn'd with features, virtues, wit, and grace, A large provision for so short a race; More moderate gifts might have prolong'd his date, Too early fitted for a better state; But, knowing heaven his home, to shun delay, He leap d o'er age, and took the shortest way.
ON THE DEATH OF MR. PURCELL.
SET TO MUSIC BY DR, BLOW
With rival notes
To welcome in the spring.
But in the close of night,
They cease their mutual spite,
Struck dumb, they all admir'd the godlike man:
The godlike man,
As he too late began.
Had he been there,
Their sovereign's fear
Had sent him back before. The
power of harmony too well they knew : He long ere this had tun'd their jarring sphere, And left no hell below.
III. The heavenly choir, who heard his notes from high, Let down the scale of music from the sky:
They handed him along, And all the way he taught, and all the way they sung. Ye brethren of the lyre, and tuneful voice, Lament his lot; but at your own rejoice: Now live secure, and linger out your days; The gods are pleas'd alone with Purcell's lays,
Nor know to mend their choice.
EPITAPH ON THE LADY WHITMORE.
FAIR, kind, and true, a treasure each alone,
A wife, a mistress, and a friend in one, Rest in this tomb, rais’d at thy husband's cost, Here sadly summing, what he had, and loft.
Come, virgins, ere in equal bands ye join,
EPITAPH ON SIR PALMES FAIRBONE'S TOMB IN
Sacred to the immortal memory of Sir Palmes Fair
BONE, Knight, Governor of Tangier; in execution of which command, he was mortally wounded by a shot from the Moors, then besieging the town, in the forty-sixth year of his age, October 24, 1680.
E sacred relics, which your marble keep,
Here, undisturb’d by wars, in quiet sleep:
hands imbrue. From thence returning with deserv'd applause, Against the Moors his well-flesh'd sword he draws;
The same the courage, and the same the cause. . VOL. XIX,
His youth and age, his life and death, combine,
MR. MILTON'S PICTURE, BEFORE HIS
HREE Poets, in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.
ON THE MONUMENT OF A FAIR MAIDEN LADY, WHO DIED AT BATH, AND IS THERE INTERRED.
ELOW this marble monument is laid
All that heaven wants of this celestial maid. Preserve, O facred tomb, thy trust confign'd; The mould was made on purpose for the mind: