Epitaph IX. On General Henry Withers, In Westminster Abbey, 1729.

Here, Withers, rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind,
Thy country's friend, but more of human kind.
Oh, born to arms! oh, worth in youth approved!
Oh, soft humanity, in age beloved!
For thee the hardy veteran drops a tear,
And the gay courtier feels the sigh sincere.
Withers, adieu! yet not with thee remove
Thy martial spirit, or thy social love!
Amidst corruption, luxury, and rage,
Still leave some ancient virtues to our age:
Nor let us say (those English glories gone)
The last true Briton lies beneath this stone.

Alexander Pope

Alexander Pope was an English poet, best known for his satirical verse, including 'The Rape of the Lock' and 'The Dunciad'. He is the second-most frequently quoted writer in The Oxford Dictionary of Quotations after Shakespeare. Pope was one of the greatest English poets and the foremost poet of the early 18th century. He also translated Homer. Despite suffering from numerous health problems, Pope made a significant impact on English literature and is remembered for his sharp wit and mastery of the heroic couplet.

Alexander Pope

To Lady Mary Wortley Montague.

Alexander Pope, Simple Poetry

On His Grotto At Twickenham

Alexander Pope, Simple Poetry

Verses Left By Mr Pope. On His Lying In The Same Bed Which Wilmot, The Celebrated Earl Of Rochester, Slept In At Adderbury, Then Belonging To The Duke Of Argyll, July 9, 1739.

Alexander Pope, Simple Poetry

Epigram Engraved On The Collar Of A Dog Which I Gave To His Royal Highness

Alexander Pope, Simple Poetry

English

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Epitaph II. On Sir William Trumbull.[1]

A pleasing form; a firm, yet cautious mind;
Sincere, though prudent; constant, yet resign'd:
Honour unchanged, a principle profess'd,
Fix'd to one side, but moderate to the rest:
An honest courtier, yet a patriot too;
Just to his prince, and to his country true:
Fill'd with the sense of age, the fire of youth,
A scorn of wrangling, yet a zeal for truth;
A generous faith, from superstition free:
A love to peace, and hate of tyranny;
Such this man was; who now, from earth removed,
At length enjoys that liberty he loved.

Alexander Pope

Epitaph XV. For One Who Would Not Be Buried In Westminster Abbey.

Heroes and kings! your distance keep:
In peace let one poor poet sleep,
Who never flatter'd folks like you:
Let Horace blush, and Virgil too.

Alexander Pope

Epitaph I. On Charles Earl Of Dorset, In The Church Of Withyam, In Sussex.

'His saltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani Munere!'

VIRG.

Dorset, the grace of courts, the Muses' pride,
Patron of arts, and judge of nature, died.
The scourge of pride, though sanctified or great,
Of fops in learning, and of knaves in state:
Yet soft his nature, though severe his lay,
His anger moral, and his wisdom gay.
Bless'd satirist! who touch'd the mean so true,
As show'd vice had his hate and pity too.
Blest courtier! who could king and country please,
Yet sacred keep his friendships, and his ease.
Blest peer! his great forefathers' every grace
Reflecting, and reflected in his race;
Where other Buckhursts, other Dorsets shine,
And patriots still, or poets, deck the line.

Alexander Pope

Epitaph XIII. On Dr Francis Atterbury,[1] Bishop Of Rochester, Who Died In Exile At Paris, 1732.

SHE.

Yes, we have lived--one pang, and then we part!
May Heaven, dear father! now have all thy heart.
Yet ah! how once we loved, remember still,
Till you are dust like me.

HE.
        Dear shade! I will:
Then mix this dust with thine--O spotless ghost!
O more than fortune, friends, or country lost!
Is there on earth one care, one wish beside?
Yes--Save my country, Heaven!
        --He said, and died.

Alexander Pope

Epitaph XI. On Mr Gay, In Westminster Abbey, 1732.

Of manners gentle, of affections mild;
In wit, a man; simplicity, a child:
With native humour tempering virtuous rage,
Form'd to delight at once and lash the age:
Above temptation in a low estate,
And uncorrupted, even among the great:
A safe companion, and an easy friend,
Unblamed through life, lamented in thy end.
These are thy honours! not that here thy bust
Is mix'd with heroes, or with kings thy dust;
But that the worthy and the good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosoms--Here lies Gay.

Alexander Pope

Epitaph XIV. On Edmund Duke Of Buckingham, Who Died In The Nineteenth Year Of His Age, 1735.

If modest youth, with cool reflection crown'd,
And every opening virtue blooming round,
Could save a parent's justest pride from fate,
Or add one patriot to a sinking state;
This weeping marble had not ask'd thy tear,
Or sadly told how many hopes lie here!
The living virtue now had shone approved,
The senate heard him, and his country loved.
Yet softer honours, and less noisy fame
Attend the shade of gentle Buckingham:
In whom a race, for courage famed and art,
Ends in the milder merit of the heart;
And chiefs or sages long to Britain given,
Pays the last tribute of a saint to Heaven.

Alexander Pope