All white, a virgin saint, she sought the skies,
For marriage, tho' it sullies not, it dyes;

High tho' her wit, yet humble was her mind,
As if she could not, or she would not find
How much her worth transcended all her kind;
Yet had she learnt so much of heav'n 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 soul so calm, it knew not ebbs and flows,
Which passion could but curb not discompose;
A female softness, with a manly mind,
A daughter duteous, and a sister kind,
In sickness patient, and in death resign'd.

Peterborough Cathedral.

ON OLD SCARLET THE SEXTON.

Above the epitaph is his picture: he is represented holding the keys of the Cathedral in one hand, a shovel in the other, a skull and mattock under his feet.

You see old Scarlet's picture stand on hie,
But at your feete there does his body lie

His graue stone doth his age,* and death tyme show,
His office by their tokens you may know.
Second to none for strength and sturdye limb,
A scarbabe mighty voice, and visage grim.
Hee had interr❜d two queens † within this place,
And this towne's householders in his life's space
Twice over; but at length his one turn came;
What he for others did, for him the same
Was done: do doubt his soule does live for aye
In heaven, tho' his body clad in clay.

*

Aged 95 (others according to Hacket, 98) ob. July 2, 1594, R. S.

+ Queen Catherine of Arragon, wife to Henry VIII. and Mary Queen of Scots, afterwards removed to Westminster.

Westminster Abbey, Poet's Corner.

On the right hand of Shakespeare's monument,

To the memory of

NICHOLAS ROWE, Esa.

Who died in 1710, aged 45;
And of Charlotte his only daughter,
Wife of Henry Fane, Esq.

Who inheriting her father's spirit,
And amiable in her own innocence and beauty,
Died in the 23d year of her age, 1739.

Thy reliques, Rowe, to this sad shrine we trust,
And near thy Shakespeare plac'd thy honour'd bust,
Oh! skill'd next him to draw the tender tear,
For never heart felt passion more sincere,
To nobler sentiments to fire the brave,
For never Briton more disdain'd a slave!
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest,
Blest in thy genius, in thy love too blest ;
And blest, that timely from our scene remov'd,
Thy soul enjoys that liberty it lov'd.

To these, so mourn'd in death, so lov'd in life,
The childless mother, and the widow'd wife,
With tears inscribes this monumental stone,
That holds their ashes, and expects her own.

Minster Church Yard, Kent.

ON MR. WORTH, A GUNNER,

Who died August 26, 1779.

Whoe'er thou art, if here by wisdom led,

To view the silent mansions of the dead;

And search for truth from life's last mournful page, Where malice stings not, nor where slanders rage; Read on-no bombast swells these friendly lines, Here truth unhonour'd and unvarnish'd shines;

I

Where o'er yon sod an envious nettle creeps,
From care escap'd, an honest gunner sleeps ;
As on he travell'd to life's sorrowing end,
Distress for ever claim'd him as a friend;
Orphans and widows were alike his care,
He gave with pleasure all he had to spare:
His match now burnt, expended all his priming,
He left this world and us without e'er whining.
Deep in the earth his carcase is entomb'd,
Which love of grog for him had honeycomb'd;
Joking apart, retir'd from wind and weather,
Virtue and Worth are laid asleep together.

In St. Edmund's Chapel, Westminster Abbey.

To the memory of

JOHN LORD RUSSELL,

(Son and heir to Francis Earl of Bedford),
And his son Francis,

By Elizabeth daughter of Sir Anthony Cook,
And widow of Sir Thomas Hoby, knight.

He is represented in a cumbent posture, habited in his robes, with his infant son at his feet. His lady was esteemed the greatest female genius of her age, being well versed in the learned languages, and an excellent poet. On the tomb are five epitaphs of her composition, three in Latin, one in Greek, and the following in English. The purport of the others are much the same.

Right noble twice, by virtue and by birtli,
Of heaven lov'd, and honour'd on the earth;
His country's hope, his kindred's chief delight,
My husband dear, more than this world's light,
Death hath me reft. But I from death will take
His memory, to whom this tomb I make.
John was his name (ah was! wretch, must I say)
Lord Russell once, now my tear thirsty clay.

The indictment against lord Russell was in substance, for conspiring the death of the king, intending to levy war; and in order thereto, to seize the guards.

When lord Russell came into court, he desired a delay of his trial until the next day; because some of his witnesses could. not arrive in town until the evening Sawyer, the attorney general, with an inhuman repartee, answered, “But you did not intend to have granted the king the delay of an hour for saving his life;" and refused his consent to the request. Russell having asked leave of the court, that notes of the evidence for his use might be taken by the hand of another; the attor ney general, in order to prevent him of getting the aid of council, told him he might use the hand of one of his servants in writing, if he pleased. "I ask none," answered the pri soner, "but that of the lady who sits by me." When the spectators, at these words turned their eyes, and beheld the daughter of the virtuous Southampton, rising up to assist her lord in this his utmost distress, a thrill of anguish ran through the assembly: but when in his defence, he said, "there can be no rehellion now, as in former times, for there are now no great men left in England," a pang of a different nature was felt by those who thought on the public.-Howard was the chief witness against him.