WESTMINSTER ABBEY.

ON THE UNFORTUNATE

MARY QUEEN OF SCOTS.

Thus Englished.

Ir birth illustrious, or if beauty's pride,
A guiltless mind, and faith severely try'd;
If wisdom, fortitude, a candid breast,
And hope in Him who comforts the distrest
If probity of heart, with patience mild,
To bear injurious wrongs, to be revil'd;
If goodness, majesty, a lib'ral will

To raise the wretched, and the poor to fill,
Could 'scape blind Fortune's thunders, that alike
On good or bad, on low and lofty, strike;
Thou hadst not early fall'n by being great,
Nor thy sad image seem'd to weep thy fate.
Scotland by right, by marriage France, was thine;
To these well-founded hope did Englund join;
By triple right a triple crown she wears;
But dim its lustre to a crown of stars.
Happy, too happy, if, the storm allay'd,

Though late, the neighb'ring realm had her obey'd:
But see, , she falls, to triumph in the grave:
New vigour thence, and fruits, her branches have.
Conquer'd, she conquers; free, tho' close confin'd;
Not dead, tho' slain; the Fates her chains unbind :
So the prun'd vine shoots forth with fertile sprays,
And the cut gem reflects its purple rays;

? So genial seeds, committed to the earth,

Rise from the fruitful soil a brighter birth.***
With blood God's covenant with man was made;
With blood the Patriarchs his wrath allay'd;

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With blood the first-born scap'd the gen'ral doom;
Blood stain'd the land which now is her's become.
Oh stay thy vengeance, Heaven, for mercy's sake!
That fatal day be ever mark'd with black :—
To murder kings abhorr'd for evermore,
Nor Britain stain'd again with royal gore.
Let the example perish with the blow;
Accurs'd its author, and its actor too.
Since in her better part she triumphs still,
Dumb be her fate, and silent ev'ry ill.

A

Such was her course, as Heav'n thought fit to steer,
She had her joys, she knew her sorrows, here.
Early to life the royal JAMES she

gave,
Whom ev'ry kinder pow'r in keeping have.
By nuptials great, by birth still greater known
And greatest in her issue, such a son.
Here MARY lies, of whom we sighing sing;
The daughter, wife, and mother of a king.
Grant Heaven! that to the latest times her race,
Their happy hours without a cloud may pass.

The prose part of the epitaph recounts her titles, and concludes thus

She was of a most ancient and truly royal descent; related to the greatest princes of all Europe; eminent for all accomplishments of mind and body.But such is the vicissitude of human things! After an imprisonment of about twenty years, and a firm, but, alas! successless struggle against the calumnies of the malicious, the suspicions of the timorous, and the snares of the implacable, she lost her head! by an act of unparalleled severity, and to the disgrace of the sacredness of majesty. With a noble contempt of the world, and a soul superior to the fear of death,

and to the terrors of the executioner, leaving her soul to Christ, the kingdom to her son James, and to the spectators of this atrocious murder a pattern of the most exalted fortitude, she composedly submitted her royal head to the axe, and exchanged a precarious life for the eternity of heaven, on the 18th of February, 1587, aged 46.

ON A TOMB-STONE

IN THE WOODS OF DENHAM.

Sacred to the Memory of
FRANCES, the wife of GEORGE HOARE, Esq.
And daughter of WILLIAM SLUGH, Esq.
Of this place;

Who, in the short space of thirty one years,
Having graced a most amiable person
With every virtue that can adorn
The longest life,

And procure esteem upon earth, finished her
Course, alas! too early for our wishes,
On the 24th January, 1761,

Let the spotless Parian stone,
Emblem of a purer breast,
Tell her name, her name alone,

All who knew her feel the rest.
Whilst we here her loss lament,
Tears yet streaming from each eye,
Angels sing with one consent,
Welcome to thy native sky.

ST. FAITH'S, UNDER ST. PAUL'S. WILLIAM LAMBE, so sometime was my name, Whiles I alyve did run my mortall race! Servynge a Prince of most immortal fame, HENRY THE EIGHTH, who, of his princely grace, In his chappell allowed me a place.

By whose favour, from Gentleman t' Esquire I was preferr'd, with worship for my hire. With wives three I joined wedlocks band, Which all alike true lovers were to mee; Joane, Alice, and Joane, for so they came to hand, What needeth prayse regarding their degree? In wively truth none stedfast more could be, Who, though in earth Death's force did once dissever, Heaven yet, I trust, shall joyne us all together. O Lambe of God, which sinne didst take away, And as a Lambe was offered up for sinne; Where I (poor Lambe) went from thy flock astray, Yet thou, good Lord, vouchsafe thy Lambe to

winne

Home to thy folde, and holde thy Lambe therein : That at the day when Lambes and Goats shall sever, Of thy choice Lambes, Lambe may be one for ever.

This Lambe having left a perpetual annuity to the poor of this parish, they are, upon receiving the said charity, to say these verses,

I pray you all that receive bread and pence,
To say the Lord's prayer before you go hence.

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ON DR. WALKER,

Who wrote a Book entitled "Particles."

HERE lie Walker's Particles.

ST. MARY'S, WARWICK.

LETTICE, COUNTESSE OF LEYCESTER.
Who died on Christmas Day, 1634.

Look in this vault, and search it well,
Much treasure in it lately fell,

We all are robb'd, and all do say
Our wealth was carry'd this a-way;
And that the theft might ne'er be found,
'Tis buried closely under ground:
Yet, if you gently stir the mould,
There all our loss you may behold;
There may you see that face, that hand,
Which once was fairest in the land;
She that in her younger yeares
Match'd with two great English peares,
She that did supply the wars

With thunder, and the court with stars;
She that in her youth had bene
Darling to the maiden Quene,
Till she was content to quitt
Her favour for her favouritt:
Whose gold thread when she saw spunn,
And the death of her brave sonn,

Thought it safest to retire

From all care and vain desire,
To a private countric cell,

Where her days she spent so well,

That to her the better sort
Came as to a holy court;

And the poor that lived near
Dearth or famine could not fear.
While she liv'd she lived thus,
Till that God, displeas'd with us,