A
POEM
to
the
Memory
of
THOMAS
,
late
Marquiss
of
WHARTON
,
Lord
Privy
Seal
.
VAIN
are
these
pomps
,
thy
funeral
rites
to
grace
,
And
blazon
forth
thy
long
Patrician
race
;
These
banners
mark'd
with
boasted
feats
of
old
,
And
streamers
waving
with
distinguish'd
gold
.
Proud
hieroglyphics
!
where
are
darkly
shown
Thy
brave
forefathers
merits
,
not
thy
own
.
Herald
forbear
!
these
painted
honours
give
To
names
that
only
in
thy
paint
can
live
.
Thy
colours
fade
near
this
illustrious
clay
,
And
all
thy
gaudy
gildings
die
away
.
See
,
The
marquiss
turn
inter'd
at
Winchindon
on
the
22d
of
April
1715.
The
total
eclipse
of
the
sun
happening
whilst
his
remains
were
on
the
road
,
stopped
the
procession
.
heaven
displeas'd
thy
fond
attempt
upbraids
,
And
claims
the
province
thy
bold
hand
invades
;
Untimely
darkness
gathering
round
the
skies
,
Blackens
the
morn
to
grace
his
obsequies
.
The
sick'ning
sun
shines
dim
,
and
in
the
sight
Of
gazing
crowds
,
resigns
his
waning
light
;
Mark
how
he
labours
with
relapse
of
night
!
How
his
diminish'd
face
a
crescent
seems
,
Like
Cynthia
newly
silver'd
with
his
beams
.
But
as
in
full
eclipse
his
light
expires
,
Back
to
its
source
our
gelid
blood
retires
;
Chill'd
with
surprize
,
our
trembling
joints
unbrace
,
And
pale
confusion
sits
on
every
face
.
The
bleating
flocks
,
no
more
the
shepherd's
care
,
Stray
from
those
folds
to
which
they
wou'd
repair
.
Home
to
his
young
the
raven
wings
his
way
,
And
leaves
untasted
his
yet
bleeding
prey
.
While
tow'ring
larks
their
rival
notes
prolong
,
They
drop
benighted
in
their
morning
song
.
Darkness
and
horror
reign
o'er
earth
and
skies
,
And
nature
for
awhile
with
WHARTON
dies
.
O
!
speak
,
refulgent
parent
of
the
day
!
With
beamy
eye
who
dost
the
globe
survey
;
Thou
radiant
source
of
wit's
diviner
fire
!
Thou
truest
judge
of
what
thou
dost
inspire
!
Say
,
hast
thou
seen
in
any
age
,
or
clime
,
Since
thy
bright
race
began
to
measure
time
,
So
great
a
genius
rise
?
in
ev'ry
part
So
form'd
by
nature
,
finish'd
so
by
art
?
Such
manly
sense
,
with
so
much
fire
of
mind
?
Judgment
so
strong
,
to
wit
so
lively
join'd
?
No
prepossession
sway'd
his
equal
soul
,
Steady
to
truth
she
pointed
as
her
pole
:
Convinc'd
of
varying
in
the
least
degrees
,
Her
pliant
index
she
reclaim'd
with
ease
.
Early
thro'
custom's
and
prescription's
yoke
,
Tyrants
of
weaker
souls
,
his
reason
broke
.
Good
sense
revering
from
the
meanest
hand
,
He
durst
authority
in
robes
withstand
.
Determin'd
always
on
maturer
thought
,
Still
by
new
reasons
,
to
new
measures
brought
;
Firm
,
but
not
stubborn
;
thoughtful
,
not
involv'd
;
Swift
to
perform
what
slowly
he
resolv'd
.
No
tempests
rag'd
within
his
peaceful
breast
,
Where
kindling
passion
reason
soon
supprest
.
'
Midst
all
events
his
firmness
he
maintain'd
,
Struggled
with
great
,
but
slighter
ills
disdain'd
.
Thus
what
philosophers
could
only
preach
,
His
inborn
virtue
did
in
practice
reach
.
Nature
design'd
him
master
of
address
;
None
knew
it
more
,
nor
seem'd
to
know
it
less
.
It
work'd
like
magic
on
your
yielding
heart
,
Sure
was
the
charm
,
but
secret
was
the
art
.
In
human
nature
most
exactly
learn'd
,
The
artful
man
he
through
his
masque
discern'd
.
With
chosen
baits
that
every
temper
take
,
He
knew
of
knave
or
fool
good
use
to
make
.
His
easy
breeding
free
from
form
and
rules
,
That
stiffen
the
civility
of
fools
,
Of
various
turn
,
for
all
occasions
fit
,
Was
squar'd
with
judgment
,
and
well
touch'd
with
wit
.
Free
of
access
,
from
affectation
clean
,
Great
without
pride
,
nor
when
familiar
,
mean
.
Obliging
always
with
good-natur'd
sense
,
Nor
apt
to
give
nor
apt
to
take
offence
.
Nor
fond
when
kind
,
nor
harsh
when
most
severe
,
Betwixt
extremes
he
justly
knew
to
steer
.
In
conversation
wond'rous
was
his
art
To
guard
his
own
,
and
sift
another's
heart
.
To
mirth
and
wit
he
led
the
cheerful
way
,
Reserv'dly
open
and
discreetly
gay
;
Nor
could
the
softest
hour
his
secret
soul
betray
.
Bright
as
the
youngest
,
as
the
oldest
wise
,
In
both
extremes
,
alike
he
gave
surprize
.
In
body
active
,
yet
his
sprightly
mind
Within
that
body
felt
herself
confin'd
.
—
When
thoughts
important
claim'd
no
longer
place
,
Then
building
,
planting
,
and
the
speedy
race
,
Paintings
,
and
books
successive
took
their
round
,
No
blanks
of
time
were
in
his
journal
sound
.
Skill'd
in
the
ends
of
his
existence
,
he
To
be
unuseful
thought
was
not
to
be
.
Polite
his
taste
of
arts
,
but
vain
was
art
Where
nature
had
so
greatly
done
her
part
.
Through
tiresome
mediums
we
at
truth
arrive
;
His
easy
knowledge
seem'd
intuitive
.
No
copy'd
beauties
meanly
form'd
his
mind
,
By
heav'n
a
great
original
design'd
.
The
seeds
of
science
in
his
blood
were
sown
,
Born
with
philosophy
,
'twas
all
his
own
The
poet
design'd
by
this
to
cover
the
marquiss's
want
of
literature
,
for
he
studied
men
and
the
world
more
than
books
.
.
Nor
bribes
nor
threat'nings
could
his
zeal
abate
To
serve
his
country
,
and
avert
her
fate
.
Firm
to
her
laws
and
liberties
he
stood
,
Submitting
private
views
to
public
good
.
Who
could
obsequious
with
the
current
swim
,
Whigs
might
be
call'd
,
but
tories
were
to
him
.
Persons
or
parties
he
no
longer
knew
,
When
swerving
once
from
honest
,
just
,
and
true
.
Oft
has
he
stem'd
the
rage
of
impious
times
,
When
patriot
virtues
bore
the
brand
of
crimes
.
To
check
proud
tyrants
born
,
and
factions
awe
,
But
most
devoted
to
good
kings
and
law
.
Twice
his
dear
country
was
on
ruin's
brink
,
Resolv'd
to
save
her
,
or
with
her
to
sink
,
His
brave
attempts
successful
twice
he
saw
,
Once
in
wise
BRUNSWICK
,
once
in
great
NASSAU
.
No
bolder
champion
in
religion's
cause
;
None
fought
more
battles
,
nor
with
more
applause
.
To
arms
he
flew
as
danger
press'd
her
home
,
And
snatch'd
the
hopeless
prey
from
France
and
Rome
.
But
as
from
conscience
pure
,
religion
springs
,
He
freedom
press'd
in
unessential
things
.
Coercive
laws
,
he
rightly
understood
,
Might
make
men
hypocrites
,
but
never
good
.
All
genuine
virtue
is
by
nature
free
;
And
will
,
when
forc'd
,
no
longer
virtue
be
.
Who
justly
would
his
eloquence
declare
,
Himself
must
WHARTON'S
fertile
genius
share
.
Would
you
conceive
it
?
see
how
o'er
the
sands
Fair
Thames
advances
where
Augusta
stands
.
Gentle
he
flows
,
but
with
resistless
force
,
Not
like
the
rapid
Rhone's
impetuous
course
;
Tho'
deep
,
so
clear
are
his
transparent
streams
,
His
bottom
rising
to
his
surface
seems
.
Full
is
his
spreading
current
,
but
restrain'd
.
And
still
within
its
flow'ry
banks
contain'd
.
Alternate
wealth
his
two
extremes
unfold
,
Downwards
he
sends
us
bread
,
and
upwards
gold
.
Flow
,
sweetest
river
!
still
thy
course
prolong
!
Thus
deep
and
clear
,
thus
gentle
,
full
and
strong
,
That
distant
ages
may
the
image
see
Of
WHARTON'S
flowing
eloquence
in
thee
.
So
shall
no
torrents
soil
thy
crystal
stream
,
Thou
patriot's
emblem
,
and
thou
poet's
theme
!
Ye
nobles
who
surround
the
British
throne
,
Reflect
its
lustre
,
and
improve
your
own
;
You
who
resemble
,
in
rich
robes
of
state
,
That
majesty
august
on
which
you
wait
,
Witness
how
often
his
decisive
sense
,
His
wit
,
his
art
,
and
copious
eloquence
,
Have
singly
won
the
question
to
his
side
,
Made
Oxford
blush
,
and
St.
John
drop
his
pride
;
Whilst
every
ear
was
with
his
accents
charm'd
,
As
every
breast
was
with
his
ardour
warm'd
:
Faction
was
touch'd
and
felt
the
secret
force
,
Dumb
,
and
convicted
,
but
without
remorse
,
Envy
with
rage
contending
in
her
face
,
To
see
his
triumph
and
her
just
disgrace
.
Nor
less
in
council
did
his
weight
appear
,
The
ablest
statesman
,
as
the
brightest
peer
.
Thou
mighty
prince
,
who
from
perfidious
power
Didst
speed
to
save
us
in
a
timely
hour
;
Whilst
beauty
join'd
with
valour
form'd
thy
train
,
To
grace
our
court
,
and
raise
our
martial
vein
;
Whose
rising
beams
made
drooping
Credit
thrive
,
Religion
spring
,
fair
Liberty
revive
:
Say
,
if
thy
chosen
ministers
,
who
sate
With
thee
to
guide
the
great
machine
of
state
,
A
more
consummate
character
could
boast
,
Than
that
which
Britain
in
her
WHARTON
lost
.
Oh
!
had
kind
heaven
(
if
prayers
were
not
too
late
)
Another
lustrum
added
to
his
date
,
How
would
his
head
,
his
heart
,
his
hand
conspire
,
To
punish
traitors
as
their
crimes
require
!
To
crush
rebellion
,
bridle
factious
rage
,
And
quell
the
monsters
of
an
impious
age
!
How
would
his
bosom
beat
with
joy
to
see
,
Great
GEORGE
!
the
British
legend
true
in
thee
!
To
see
thee
o'er
the
vanquish'd
dragon
ride
,
And
free
thy
kingdoms
from
his
rage
and
pride
!
Whilst
peace
and
plenty
spread
their
golden
wings
Around
the
best
of
men
,
the
best
of
kings
,
And
every
tide
shall
waft
into
thy
ports
Wealth
from
all
lands
,
and
homage
from
all
courts
.
But
sov'reign
heav'n
,
whose
ways
are
ever
wise
,
He
died
a
few
months
after
the
accession
of
GEORGE
I.
Just
drew
the
glorious
dawn
before
his
eyes
;
And
for
his
happier
son
reserv'd
the
sight
Of
Brunswick's
power
in
its
meridian
light
.
GEORGE
shall
in
him
prove
honour
,
courage
,
truth
,
And
find
the
father
in
the
pregnant
youth
.
Thus
the
great
leader
of
the
Hebrew
bands
,
Through
opening
billows
and
o'er
burning
sands
,
From
Egypt's
yoke
,
and
haughty
Pharaoh's
chains
,
To
Canaan's
fruitful
hills
,
and
flow'ry
plains
,
From
Pisgah's
height
the
promis'd
land
descry'd
;
More
was
forbid
;
he
saw
,
rejoic'd
,
and
dy'd
.