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Under Mr. Milton's Picture, before his PARADISE Lost.
HREE Poets, in three diftant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.
The first, in loftiness of thought surpass’d;
The next, in majesty ; in both the last,
The force of nature cou'd no further go;
To make a third, she join'd the former two.
On the MONUMENT of a FAIR
MAIDEN LADY', who died at
BAT H, and is there interred.
ELOW this marble monument is laid
All that heav'n wants of this celestial maid,
Preserve, O sacred tomb, thy trust confign'd;
The mould was made on purpose for the mind :
And she wou'd lose, if, at the latter day,
One atom cou'd be mix'd of other clay.
Such were the features of her heav'nly face,
Her limbs were form’d with such harmonious grace;
So faultless was the frame, as if the whole
Had been an emanation of the soul ;
Which her own inward symmetry reveald ;
And like a picture shone, in glass anneal'd.
Or like the sun eclips'd, with shaded light:
Too piercing, else, to be sustain'd by fight.
Each thought was visible that rollid within :
As thro' a chryftal case the figur'd hours are seen.
And heav'n did this transparent veil provide,
Because she had no guilty thought to hide.
All white, a virgin-saint, she fought the skies :
For marriage, tho'it fullies not, it dies.
High tho' her wit, yet humble was her mind;
As if she cou'd not, or she wou'd not find
How much her worth transcended all her kind.
Yer she had learn'd so much of heaven below,
That when arriv'd, she scarce had more to know:
But only to refresh the former hint;
And read her Maker in a fairer print.
So pious, as she had no time to spare
For human thoughts, but was confin’d to pray’r.
Yet in such charities she pass’d the day,
'Twas wond'rous how she found an hour to pray.
A foul so calm, it knew not ebbs or flows,
Which passion cou'd but curl, not discompose.
A female softness, with a manly mind:
A daughter duteous, and a fifter kind :
In fickness patient, and in death resign'd.
EPITAPH on Mrs. MARGARET Paston,
of BURNINGHAM in NORFOLK. S ,
O fair, fo young, so innocent, so sweet,
Require at least an age in one to meet.
In her they met; but long they could not stay,
'Twas gold too fine to mix without allay,
Heaven's image was in her so well expreft,
Her very fight upbraided all the rest ;
Too juftly ravilh'd from an age like this,
Now she is gone, the world is of a piece.
On the MONUMENT of the
MARQUIS of Winchester.
E, who in impious times undaunted stood,
Whose arms asserted, and whose sufferings more
Confirm'd the cause for which he fought before ;
Rests here, rewarded by an heav'nly prince ;
For what his earthly could not recompence.
Pray reader that such times no more appear :
Or, if they happen, learn true honour here.
Ask of this age's faith and loyalty,
Which, to preserve them, heav’n confin'd in thee,
Few subjects could a king like thine deserve :
And fewer, such a king, so well could serve.
Bleit king, blest subject, whose exalted state
By sufferings rose, and gave the law to fate.
Such souls are rare, but mighty patterns giv’n
To earth, and meant for ornaments to heav'n,