The cloud-cap’d towers, the gorgeous palaces, The solemn temples, the great globe itself; Yea, all which it inherits, shall dissolve, And like the baseless fabric of a vision, Leave not a wreck behind. Immediately over his head upon a curious piece of dark-coloured marble, is the following inscription, in capital letters raised in gold: GULIELMO SHAKESPEAR ANNO POST MORTEM CXXIV. AMOR PUBLICUS POSUIT. The heads on the pedestal representing Henry V. Richard III. and Queen Elizabeth, three principal characters in his plays, are likewise proper ornaments to grace his tomb. In short, the taste that is here shewn, does honour to those great names under whose direction, by the public favour, it was so elegantly constructed; these were the Earl of Burlington, Dr. Mead, Mr. Pope, and Mr. Martin. It was designed by Kent, and executed by Scheemakers; and the expence defrayed by the grateful contributions of the public. Mr. Fleetwood, then Master of Drury Lane Theatre, and Mr. Rich of Covent Garden, gave each a benefit, arising from one of his own plays, towards it, and the Dean and Chapter made a present of the ground. 15. The next monument is a very fine one to the memory of Nicholas Rowe, Esq; and his only daughter. On a pedestal about twenty inches high, which stands on an altar, is a fine bust of Mr. Rowe; near it is his Lady in the deepest affliction, and between both, on a pyramid behind, is a medalion, with the head of a young Lady in relief. On the front of the pedestal is this inscription: To the memory of Nicholas Rowe, Esq; who died in 1718, aged forty-five, and of Charlotte his only daughter, wife of Henry Fane, Esq; who inheriting her father’s spirit, and amiable in her own innocence and beauty, died in the 23d year of her age, 1739. Underneath upon the front of the altar are these lines: Thy reliques, Rowe! to this sad shrine we trust, And near thy Shakespear place thy honoured bust. Oh! skill’d, next him, to draw the tender tear, For never heart felt passion more sincere: To nobler sentiments to fire the brave, For never Briton more disdain’d a slave! Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest, Blest in thy genius, in thy love too blest! And blest, that timely from our scene remov’d, Thy soul enjoys that liberty it lov’d. To these so mourn’d in death, so lov’d in life, The childless Mother, and the widow’d Wife, With tears inscribes this monumental stone, That holds their ashes, and expects her own.