forty years, without any crime proved against him, the fentiment had been just and pathetical; but why fhould Trumbal be congratulated upon his liberty, who had never known restraint?

III.

On the Hon. SIMON HARCOURT, only Son of the Lord
Chancellor HARCOURT, at the Church of Stanton-
Harcourt in Oxfordshire, 1720.

To this fad fhrine, whoe'er thou art, draw near,
Here lies the friend moft lov'd, the fon moft dear:
Who ne'er knew joy, but friendship might divide,
Or gave his father grief but when he dy❜d.

How vain is reason, eloquence how weak!
If Pope must tell what Harcourt cannot speak.
Oh, let thy once-lov'd friend inscribe thy stone,
And with a father's forrows mix his own!

This epitaph is principally remarkable for the artful introduction of the name, which is inferted with a peculiar felicity, to which chance must concur with genius, which no man can hope to attain twice, and which cannot be copied but with fervile imita

tion.

I cannot but wifh that, of this infcription, the two laft lines had been omitted, as they take away from the energy what they do not add to the fenfe.

IV.

On JAMES CRAGGS, Efq. in Westminster-Abbey.

JACOBUS CRAGGS,

REGI MAGNAE BRITANNIAE A SECRETIS

ET CONSILIIS SANCTIORIBVS

PRINCIPIS PARITER AC POPULI AMOR ET DELICIAE: VIXIT TITULIS ET INVIDIA MAJOR,

ANNOS HEV PAVCOS, XXXV.

OB. FEB. XVI. MDCCXX.

Statesman, yet friend to truth! of foul fincere,
In action faithful, and in honour clear!
Who broke no promife, ferv'd no private end,
Who gain'd no title, and who loft no friend;
Ennobled by himfelf, by all approv'd,

Prais'd, wept, and honour'd, by the Mufe he lov'd.

The lines on Craggs were not originally intended for an epitaph; and therefore fome faults are to be imputed to the violence with which they are torn from the poems that first contained them. We may,

however, observe fome defects. There is a redundancy of words in the first couplet: it is fuperfluous to tell of him, who was fincere, true, and faithful, that he was in honour clear.

There feems to be an oppofition intended in the fourth line, which is not very obvious: where is the relation between the two pofitions, that he gained no title and loft no friend?

It may be proper here to remark the abfurdity of joining, in the fame infcription, Latin and English, or verfe and profe. If either language be preferable to the other, let that only be used; for no reason can be given why part of the information fhould be given in one tongue, and part in another, on a tomb, more than in any other place, on any other occafion; and to tell all that can be conveniently told in verse, and then to call-in the help of profe, has always the appearance of a very artless expedient, or of an attempt unaccomplished. Such an epitaph resembles

the

the conversation of a foreigner, who tells part of his meaning by words, and conveys part by signs,

V.

Intended for Mr. Rowe. In Westminster-Abbey.
Thy reliques, Rowe, to this fair urn we truft,
And facred, place by Dryden's awful duft:
Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies,
To which thy tomb shall guide enquiring eyes.
Peace to thy gentle fhade, and endless reft!
Bleft in thy genius, in thy love too bleft!
One grateful woman to thy fame supplies
What a whole thankless land to his denies.

Of this infcription the chief fault is, that it belongs lefs to Rowe, for whom it was written, than to Dryden, who was buried near him; and indeed gives very little information concerning either.

To with, Peace to thy fhade, is too mythological to be admitted into a Christian temple: the ancient worship has infected almost all our other compofitions, and might therefore be contented to spare our epitaphs. Let fiction, at leaft, ceafe with life, and let us be serious over the grave.

VI.

On Mrs. CORBET, who died of a Cancer in ber Breaft *.
Here refts a woman, good without pretence,

Bleft with plain reason, and with sober sense;
No conqueft fhe, but o'er herself defir'd;
No arts effay'd, but not to be admir'd.

* In the North aile of the parish church of St. Margaret Weftminster. H.

Paffion

Paffion and pride were to her foul unknown,
Convinc'd that Virtue only is our own.
So unaffected, so compos'd a mind,
So firm, yet foft, so strong, yet so refin'd,
Heaven, as its pureft gold, by tortures try'd;
The faint fuftain'd it, but the woman dy'd.

I have always confidered this as the most valuable of all Pope's epitaphs; the subject of it is a character not discriminated by any shining or eminent peculiarities; yet that which really makes, though not the splendor, the felicity of life, and that which every wife man will choose for his final and lasting companion in the languor of age, in the quiet of privacy, when he departs weary and difgufted from the oftentatious, the volatile, and the vain. Of such a character, which the dull overlook, and the gay defpife, it was fit that the value fhould be made known, and the dignity established. Domestick virtue, as it is exerted without great occafions, or confpicuous confequences, in an even unnoted tenor, required the genius of Pope to display it in fuch a manner as might attract regard, and enforce reverence. Who can forbear to lament that this amiable woman has no name in the verses?

If the particular lines of this infcription be examined, it will appear lefs faulty than the reft. There is scarcely one line taken from common places, unless it be that in which only Virtue is faid to be our own. I once heard a Lady of great beauty and excellence object to the fourth line, that it contained an unnatural and incredible panegyrick. Of this let the Ladies judge.

VII. On

VII.

On the Monument of the Hon. ROBERT DIGBY, and of his Sifter MARY, erected by their Father the Lord DIGBY, in the Church of Sherbourne in Dorfetfhire, 1727.

Go! fair example of untainted youth,
Of modeft wisdom, and pacific truth:
Compos'd in fufferings, and in joy fedate,
Good without noife, without pretenfion great.
Juft of thy word, in every thought sincere,
Who knew no wish but what the world might hear:
Of fofteft manners, unaffected mind,

Lover of peace, and friend of human kind:
Go, live! for Heaven's eternal year is thine,
Go, and exalt thy mortal to divine.

And thou, bleft maid! attendant on his doom,
Penfive haft follow'd to the filent tomb,
Steer'd the fame course to the fame quiet fhore,
Not parted long, and now to part no more!
Go, then, where only blifs fincere is known!
Go, where to love and to enjoy are one!

Yet take thefe tears, Mortality's relief,
And till we share your joys, forgive our grief:
Thefe little rites, a stone, a verse receive,
'Tis all a father, all a friend can give!

This epitaph contains of the brother only a ge neral indifcriminate character, and of the fifter tells nothing but that fhe died. The difficulty in writing epitaphs is to give a particular and appropriate praise. This, however, is not always to be performed, whatever be the diligence or ability of the writer; for the greater part of mankind have no character at all, have little that distinguishes them from others equally

good