Poems upon several Occasions By Mr. Smith |
 |
An EPITAPH ON THE Divine Mr. BUTLER, THE Incomparable Author of
Hudibras. |
 | Poems upon several Occasions |  |
165
An EPITAPH ON THE Divine Mr. BUTLER, THE Incomparable Author of Hudibras.
Here
Phœnix BUTLER lies, whose precious Mold
Wou'd suffer in the Change, tho' turn'd to Gold.
His Chymick Dust to Jewels shall give Birth,
Refine gross Matter, and sublime the Earth;
Himself Himself survives, nor can he die,
Consign'd by Fame to Immortality.
Wou'd suffer in the Change, tho' turn'd to Gold.
His Chymick Dust to Jewels shall give Birth,
Refine gross Matter, and sublime the Earth;
Himself Himself survives, nor can he die,
Consign'd by Fame to Immortality.
166
Who travels o're his Book, will there descry
Treasures, that all the World's too poor to buy:
Phœbus his Sire with greater Lustre shines
In his One Work, than All his Indian Mines.
Treasures, that all the World's too poor to buy:
Phœbus his Sire with greater Lustre shines
In his One Work, than All his Indian Mines.
He flies his daring Muse, and in her Way
Sour Hypocrites, and Rebels are her Prey,
Saints are expos'd with Masquerading Face;
Much Beard, small Wit, and plenteous Want of Grace.
His pointed Satire like a Shaft is found,
Whose Feathers tickle, while the Steel does wound:
With Indignation fir'd he sneering writes;
The gen'rous Mastiff thus both grins, and bites.
Sour Hypocrites, and Rebels are her Prey,
Saints are expos'd with Masquerading Face;
Much Beard, small Wit, and plenteous Want of Grace.
His pointed Satire like a Shaft is found,
Whose Feathers tickle, while the Steel does wound:
With Indignation fir'd he sneering writes;
The gen'rous Mastiff thus both grins, and bites.
He (our bright Sun) his shining Progress made
(Hid by no Cloud, and darken'd by no Shade)
Within our out-stretch'd Island's wide Embrace;
The Tropicks of his wide Poetick Race.
England Triumph, and pour forth mournful Dews,
The Sepulchre, and Cradle of his Muse;
No Kingdom but Great Britain cou'd contain
His mighty Ruins, or improve his Vein.
(Hid by no Cloud, and darken'd by no Shade)
167
The Tropicks of his wide Poetick Race.
England Triumph, and pour forth mournful Dews,
The Sepulchre, and Cradle of his Muse;
No Kingdom but Great Britain cou'd contain
His mighty Ruins, or improve his Vein.
O Albion! I might well thy Conduct blame,
That Thou no Costly Monument of Fame
Hast Consecrated to his Deathless Name,
But that no Fun'ral Pomp can equal be,
To Recognize a Bard so Great as He.
That Thou no Costly Monument of Fame
Hast Consecrated to his Deathless Name,
But that no Fun'ral Pomp can equal be,
To Recognize a Bard so Great as He.
Since no Corinthian Brass, no Porph'ry Stone,
No Verse can Eternize Him, like his own;
Strictly to do Him Honour, let Him have
His sweet Poetick Flow'rs strow'd o're his Grave.
Thus reconcil'd, his Expiated Ghost
Shall glory in a Tomb of greater Cost,
Than the whole Kingly Race of Ptolomies can boast.
No Verse can Eternize Him, like his own;
Strictly to do Him Honour, let Him have
His sweet Poetick Flow'rs strow'd o're his Grave.
168
Shall glory in a Tomb of greater Cost,
Than the whole Kingly Race of Ptolomies can boast.
| Poems upon several Occasions | |