His first wife died in 1751, leaving him seven children. He had known her from childhood. The attention paid her by Shenstone shews her to have been an amiable woman. In eight years after, he married Margaret, daughter of James Underwood, Esq. of Rugeley, in Staffordshire, who survived him. During the latter part of his life, his infirmities confined him to the house. He died, after a short illness, on the 8th of May, 1781, and was buried in the church of Snitterfield. In his person he was above the middle stature. His manner was reserved before strangers, but easy even to sprightliness in the society of his friends. He is said to have discharged blamelessly all the duties of his profession and of domestic life. As a poet, he is not entitled to very high commendation. The distinguishing feature of his poetry is the ease of its diction. Johnson has observed, that if blank verse be not tumid and gorgeous, it is crippled prose. To disprove this, it would be sufficient to quote the greater part of that story from the Tatler [1] of the Young Man restored to Sight, which Jago has introduced into his Edge-hill. Nothing can be described more naturally, than his feelings and behaviour on his first recovery. The friendly wound was given; th'obstructing film Drawn artfully aside; and on his sight Burst the full tide of day. Surprised he stood, Not knowing where he was, nor what he saw. The skilful artist first, as first in place, He view'd, then seized his hand, then felt his own, Then mark'd their near resemblance, much perplex'd, And still the more perplex'd the more he saw. Now silence first th' impatient mother broke, And, as her eager looks on him she bent, "My son (she cried), my son!" On her he gazed With fresh surprise. "And what!" he cried, "art thou My mother? for thy voice bespeaks thee such, Though to my sight unknown."--"Thy mother I (She quick replied); thy sister, brother, these."-- "O! 'tis too much (he said); too soon to part, Ere well we meet! But this new flood of day O'erpowers me, and I feel a death-like damp Chill all my frame, and stop my faltering tongue." Now Lydia, so they call'd his gentle friend, Who, with averted eye, but in her soul Had felt the lancing steel, her aid applied, "And stay, dear youth (she said), or with thee take Thy Lydia, thine alike in life or death!" At Lydia's name, at Lydia's well known voice, He strove again to raise his drooping head And ope his closing eye, but strove in vain, And on her trembling bosom sunk away. Now other fears distract his weeping friends: But short their grief! for soon his life return'd, And, with return of life, return'd their peace.--(B. iii.)