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ON

THE DEATH

OF

MR PURCEL L.

SET TO MUSIC BY DR BLOW.

I.
Mark how the lark and linnet sing;

With rival notes
They strain their warbling throats,

To welcome in the spring.

But in the close of night,
When Philomel begins her heavenly lay,

They cease their mutual spite,
Drink in her music with delight,
And, listening, silently obey.

II.
So ceased the rival crew when Purcell came;
They sung no more, or only sung his fame.
Struck dumb, they all admired the godlike man :

The godlike man,
Alas! too soon retired,

As he too late began.
We beg not hell our Orpheus to restore;

Had he been there,

Their sovereign's fear
Had sent him back before.

The power of harmony too well they knew :
He long ere this had tuned their jarring sphere,
And left no hell below.

III.
The heavenly choir, who heard his notes from high,
Let down the scale of music from the sky;

They handed him along, And all the way he taught, andall the way they sung. Ye brethren of the lyre, and tuneful voice, Lament his lot, but at your own rejoice : Now live secure, and linger out your days; The gods are pleased alone with Purcell's lays,

Nor know to mend their choice.

EPITAPH

ON THE

LADY WHITMORE.

This was perhaps Frances, daughter of Sir William Brooke, Knight

of the Bath, and wife to Sir Thomas Whitmore, Knight-Baronet.

Fair, kind, and true, a treasure each alone,
A wife, a mistress, and a friend, in one;
Rest in this tomb, raised at thy husband's cost,
Here sadly summing, what he had, and lost.

Come, virgins, ere in equal bands ye join,
Come first and offer at her sacred shrine ;
Pray but for half the virtues of this wife,
Compound for all the rest, with longer life;
And wish your vows, like hers, may be return'd,
So loved when living, and, when dead, so mourn'd.

EPITAPH

ON

MRS MARGARET PASTON,

OF BURNINGHAM, IN NORFOLK.

This is an ancient and distinguished family in Norfolk. Sce Bloom,

field's topographical account of that shire.

So fair, so young, so innocent, so sweet,
So ripe a judgment, and so rare a wit,
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 exprest,
Her very sight upbraided all the rest;
Too justly ravish'd from an age like this,
Now she is gone, the world is of a piece.

EPITAPH

ON

THE MONUMENT

OF

THE MARQUIS OF WINCHESTER

John Powler, fifth Marquis of Winchester, was remarkable for his steady loyalty to Charles I. He garrisoned for the king his fine castle at Basing, and underwent a siege of two years, from August 1643 to October 16th, 1645; on which day it was taken by Cromwell, by storm, after having been defended with great gallantry to the very last extremity. The Marquis had written, in every window of the house, with a diamond, the motto Aymez Loyaulté. The parliamentary leaders, incensed at this device, burnt down this noble seat, (a conflagration which Cromwell imputes to accident,) and destroyed and plundered property to the amount of £200,000. The Marquis himself was made prisoner. The particulars of this memorable siege were printed at Oxford in 1645 ; and Oliver's account of the storm is published in Collins's “ Peerage," from a manuscript in the Mu

The Marquis of Winchester survived the Restoration and, having died premier marquis of England, in 1674, was buried at Englefield. This monument, upon which our author's verses are engraved, is made of black and white marble ; and a copartment underneath the lines bears this inscription : “ The Lady Marchioness Dowager, in testimony of her love and sorrow, gave this monument to the

memory of

most affectionate, tender husband.” On a flat marble stone, beneath the monument, is the following epitaph : “ Here lieth interred the body of the most noble and mighty prince, John Powlet, Marquis of Winchester, Earl of Wiltshire, Baron of St John of Basing, first Marquis of England: A man of exemplary piety towards God, and of inviolable fidelity towards his sovereign; in whose cause he fortified his house of Basing, and defended it against the rebels

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