As doctors give phyfick by way of prevention,
Mat, alive and in health, of his tomb-ftone
For delays are unfafe, and his pious intention
May haply be never fulfill'd by his heir,"
Then take Mat's word for it, the sculptor is paid,
That the figure is fine, pray believe your own eye;
Yet credit but lightly what more may be faid,
For we flatter ourselves, and teach marble to lie.
III.
Yet, counting as far as to fifty his years,
His virtues and vices were as other men's are; High hopes he conceiv'd, and he fmother'd great fears,
In life party-colour'd, half pleafure, half care.
He ftrove
In public employments industrious and grave,
Nor to business a drudge, nor to faction a flave,
ve to make inte
make intereft and freedom agree;
And alone with his friends, lord, how merry
Now in equipage ftately, now humbly on foot,
Both fortunes he try'd, but to neither would truft; And whirl'd in the round, as the wheel turn'd about,
He found riches had wings, and knew man was
This verfe little polish'd, though mighty fincere,
Sets neither his titles nor merit to view;
It fays that his relicks collected lie here,
And no mortal yet knows too if this may be true.
VII.
Fierce robbers there are that infeft the highway,
So Mat may be kill'd, and his bones never found;
Falfe witnefs at court, and fierce tempests at sea,
So Mat may yet chance to be hang'd, or be
drown'd.
If his bones lie in earth, roll in fea, fly in air, To fate we muft yield, and the thing is the fame.
And if paffing thou giv'ft him a fmile, or a tear, He cares not-yet pr'ythee be kind to his fame.
Toft' to many has fuccefsful been,
Upon his arm to let his mistress lean;
Or with her airy fan to cool her heat,
Or gently fqueeze her knees, or press her feet,
All public sports, to favour young defire,
With opportunities like this confpire.
Ev'n where his skill the gladiator shows,
With human blood where the Arena flows;
There oftentimes Love's quiver-bearing boy
Prepares his bow and arrows to destroy:
While the fpectator gazes on the fight,
And fees them wound each other with delight;
While he his pretty mistress entertains,
And wagers with her who the conqueft gains;
Slily the God takes aim, and hits his heart,
And in the wounds he fees he bears his part,
Occafioned by the Death of Prince GEORGE, 1768.
BEHIND an unfrequented glade,
Where yew and myrtle mix their fhade,
A widow Turtle penfive fat,
And wept her murder'd Lover's fate.
The Sparrow chanc'd that way to walk
(A bird that loves to chirp and talk);
Be fure he did the Turtle greet;
She answer'd him as fhe thought meet.
Sparrows and Turtles, by the bye,
Can think as well as you or I:
But how they did their thoughts exprefs,
The margin fhews by T and S.
T. My hopes are loft, my joys are fled;
Alas! I weep Columbo dead :
Come, all ye winged lovers, come,
Drop pinks and daifies on his tomb:
Sing, Philomel, his funeral verfe;
Ye pious Redbreafts, deck his hearfe :
Fair Swans, extend your dying throats,
Columbo's death requires your notes:
For him, my friends, for him I moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone."
Stretch'd on the bier Columbo lies;
Pale are his cheeks, and clos'd his eyes;
Thofe cheeks, where Beauty fmiling lay;
Those eyes, where Love was us❜d to play.
Ah! cruel Fate, alas! how foon
That beauty and those joys are flown!
Columbo is no more: ye Floods,
Bear the fad found to diftant Woods ;
The found let Echo's voice restore,
And fay, Columbo is no more,
"Ye Floods, ye Woods, ye Echoes, moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone."
The Dryads all forfook the wood,
And mournful Naiads round me stood,
The tripping Fawns and Fairies came,
All confcious of our mutual flame,
"To figh for him, with me to moan
My dear Columbo, dead and gone."
Venus difdain'd not to appear,
To lend my grief a friendly ear
But what avails her kindness now ?
She ne'er shall hear my fecond vow :
The Loves, that round their Mother flew,
Did in her face her forrows view;
Their drooping wings they penfive hung,
Their arrows broke, their bows unftrung:
They heard attentive what I faid,
And wept, with me, Columbo dead :
"For him I figh, for him I moan,
My dear Columbo, dead and gone."
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