Ah no! a shepherd of a different stock, And far unlike him, feeds this little flock; To raise the hope he feels not, or with zeal CRABBE Moon Light. Now came still evening on, and twilight gray Silence Silence was pleas'd: 'now glow'd the 'firmament MILTON. On Milton. Three poets in thrée distant ages born, DRYDEN. On Mr. Fenton. This modest stone, what few vain marbles can, May truly say, "Here lies an honest man." A poet, bless'd beyond the poet's fate, Whom heaven kept sacred from the proud and great. Foe Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease, Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear; Thank'd heav'n that he had liv'd, and that he died. РОРЕ. On Sir Isaac Newton. Nature and nature's laws, lay hid in night; "Let Newton be!" and all was light. God said, On Mr. Gay. Of manners gentle, of affections mild; With native humour temp❜ring virtuous rage, These These are thy honours! not that here thy bust To a young Gentleman. Nature has done her part: do thou but thine; On Mr. Edmund Burke. Here lies our good Edmund, whose genius was such, We scarcely can praise it, or blame it too much; Who, born for the universe, narrow'd his mind, And to party gave up what was meant for mankind. Though fraught with all learning, yet straining his throat, To persuade Tommy Townsend to lend him a vote; Who, Who, too deep for his hearers, still went on re fining, And thought of convincing, while they thought of dining; Though equal to all things, for all things unfit, Too nice for a statesman, too proud for`a wit; For a patriot too cool; for a drudge disobedient; And too fond of the right, to pursue the expedient. In short, 'twas his fate unemploy'd, or in place, Sir, To eat mutton cold, and cut blocks with a razor. GOLDSMITH. On Mr. Cumberland*. Here Cumberland lies, having acted his parts, are. His gallants are all faultless, his women divine, And comedy wonders at being so fine: Mr. Richard Cumberland, author of the West Indian, Fashionable Lover, the Brothers, and other dramatic pieces. |