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AN EPITAPH ON MRS. POPE.
  
  
  
  
  
  
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382

AN EPITAPH ON MRS. POPE.

HERE lies the female celebrated Young;
Whose talents well deserve my plaintive song:
Oft with fine fiction she resigned her breath;
She suffered with decorum, nature's death.
A greater actress never trod the stage,
In comick elegance, or tragick rage.
But since the force of mind; the person's grace;
All the best honours of the human race,
Soon cease to strike the soul, and charm the eye;
Since all that flourishes but blooms to die;
Let us to virtue fix the wandering heart;
And through life's drama nobly act our part;
While conscience issues, from her critick laws
A verdict happier than the world's applause.
Bishop's-gate: by Windsor Great Park; March 20th, 1797.