’Tis but the funeral of the former year. 10
Let joy or ease, let affluence or content,
And the gay conscience of a life well spent,
Calm every thought, inspirit every grace,
Glow in thy heart and smile upon thy face.
Let day improve on day, and year on year,
Without a pain, a trouble, or a fear;
Till death unfelt that tender frame destroy,
In some soft dream, or ecstasy of joy,
Peaceful sleep out the Sabbath of the tomb,
And wake to raptures in a life to come. 20
Composed 1723 First published 1724
EPITAPH. ON MRS CORBETT, WHO
DIED OF A CANCER IN HER BREASTHere rests a woman, good without pretence,
Blessed with plain reason, and with sober sense:
No conquests she, but o’er herself, desired;
Nor arts essayed, but not to be admired.
Passion and pride were to her soul unknown,
Convinced that virtue only is our own.
So unaffected, so composed a mind;
So firm, yet soft; so strong, yet so refined;
Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures tried!
The saint sustained it, but the woman died. 10
Composed c. 1730 First published 1730
EPITAPH. ON MR ELIJAH FENTON.
AT EASTHAMSTEAD IN BERKS, 1730This modest stone, what few vain marbles can,
May truly say, Here lies an honest man;
A poet blest beyond the poet’s fate,
Whom Heaven kept sacred from the proud and great:
Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease,
Content with science in the vale of peace,
[279–80]