Here rests a woman, good without pretence, Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense: No conquests she, but o'er herself, desired, No arts essay'd, but not to be admired. Passion and pride were to her soul unknown, Convinced that virtue only is our own. So unaffected, so composed a mind; So firm, yet soft; so strong, yet so refined; Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures tried; The saint sustain'd it, but the woman died. VII. ON THE MONUMENT OF THE HONOURABLE EGBERT DIGBY, AND HIS SISTER MARY. ERECTED BY THEIR FATHER THE LORD DIGBY, IN THE CHURCH OF SHERBORNE, IN DORSETSHIRE, 1727. Go! fair example of untainted youth, Of modest wisdom, and pacific truth: Composed in sufferings, and in joy sedate, Good without noise, without pretension great. Just of thy word, in every thought sincere, Who knew no wish but what the world might hear: Of softest manners, unaffected mind, Lover of peace, and friend of human kind: Go live! for Heaven's eternal year is thine,[82] Go, and exalt thy moral to divine. And thou, bless'd maid! attendant on his doom, Pensive hast follow'd to the silent tomb, Steer'd the same course to the same quiet shore, Not parted long, and now to part no more! Go then, where only bliss sincere is known! Go, where to love and to enjoy are one! Yet take these tears, Mortality's relief, And till we share your joys, forgive our grief: These little rites, a stone, a verse receive; 'Tis all a father, all a friend can give! VIII. ON SIR GODFREY KNELLER, IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1723. Kneller, by Heaven, and not a master, taught, Whose art was Nature, and whose pictures Thought; Now for two ages having snatch'd from Fate Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great, Lies crown'd with princes' honours, poets' lays, Due to his merit, and brave thirst of praise. Living, great Nature fear'd he might outvie Her works; and, dying, fears herself may die. IX. ON GENERAL HENRY WITHERS, IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1729. Here, Withers, rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind, Thy country's friend, but more of human kind. Oh, born to arms! oh, worth in youth approved! Oh, soft humanity, in age beloved! For thee the hardy veteran drops a tear, And the gay courtier feels the sigh sincere. Withers, adieu! yet not with thee remove Thy martial spirit, or thy social love! Amidst corruption, luxury, and rage, Still leave some ancient virtues to our age: Nor let us say (those English glories gone) The last true Briton lies beneath this stone. X. ON MR ELIJAH FENTON,[83] AT EASTHAMSTEAD, IN BERKS, 1730. This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say, Here lies an honest man: A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate, Whom Heaven kept sacred from the proud and great: Foe to loud praise, and friend to learnèd ease, Content with science in the vale of peace. Calmly he look'd on either life, and here Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear; From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfied, Thank'd Heaven that he had lived, and that he died.