XIII.

On Dr. FRANCIS ATTERBURY,

Bishop of Rochefter,

Who died in Exile at Paris, 1732.

[His only Daughter having expired in his arms, immediately after she arrived in France to fee him.]

DIALOGUE.

SHE

YES, we have liv'd-one pang, and then we part! May Heav'n, dear Father! now have all thy Heart. Yet ah! how once we lov'd, remember ftill,

Till you are duft like me.

HE

Dear Shade! I will:

Then mix this duft with thine-O fpotlefs Ghoft!
O more than Fortune, Friends, or Country loft!
Is there on Earth one care, one wish befide?
Yes-SAVE MY COUNTRY, HEAV'N *,

-He said, and dy’d.

• Alluding to the Bishop's frequent ufe and application of the expiring words of the famous Father PAUL, in his prayer for the ftate, ESTO PERPETUA. With how good a grace the Bishop applied it at his trial, and is here made to refer to it in his last moments, they will understand who know what conformity there was in the lives of the Prelate and the Monk. The character of our countryman is well known. And that of the Father may be told in very few words. He was profoundly skilled in all divine and human learning: He employed his whole life in the service of the State, against the unjuft incroachments of the Church. He was modeft, humble, and forgiving, candid, patient, and just; free from all prejudices of party, and all the projects of ambition; in a word, the happiest compound of Science, Wifdom, and Virtue.

On

XIV.

On EDMUND, Duke of BUCKINGHAM, Who died in the Nineteenth Year of his Age, 1735

F modeft Youth, with cool Reflection crown'd,

IF

And ev'ry op'ning Virtue blooming round,
Could fave a Parent's juftest Pride from fate,
Or add one Patriot to a finking state;
This weeping marble had not ask'd thy Tear,
Or fadly told, how many hopes lie here!
The living Virtue now had fhone approv'd,
The Senate heard him, and his Country lov'd.
Yet fofter Honours, and less noisy Fame
Attend the shade of gentle BUCKINGHAM:
In whom a Race, for Courage fam'd and Art,
Ends in the milder Merit of the Heart;
And Chiefs or Sages long to Britain giv'n,
Pays the laft Tribute of a Saint to Heav'n.

XV.

For One who would not be buried in WestminsterAbbey.

HEROES and KINGS! your distance keep;
In peace let one poor Poet sleep,

Who never flatter'd Folks like you:
Let Horace blush, and Virgil too.

Another, on the fame.

UNDER this Marble, or under this Sill,

Or under this Turf, or e'en what they will;
Whatever an Heir, or a Friend in his ftead,

Or any good creature fhall lay o'er my head,
Lies one who ne'er car'd, and still cares not a pin
What they faid, or may fay of the Mortal within:
But who, living and dying, ferene ftill and free,
Trufts in GoD, that as well as he was, he shall be.

MEMOIRS

MEMOIRS

Of the Extraordinary

Life, Works, and Discoveries

O F

MARTINUS SCRIBLERUS.