The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. Containing, besides his Sermons, and Essays on miscellaneous subjects, several additional pieces, Selected from his Manuscripts by the Rev. Dr. Jennings, and the Rev. Dr. Doddridge, in 1753: to which are prefixed, memoirs of the life of the author, compiled by the Rev. George Burder. In six volumes |
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AN EPITAPH ON KING WILLIAM III.
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 | The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. |  |
AN EPITAPH ON KING WILLIAM III.
OF GLORIOUS MEMORY, Who died March the 8th, 1701–2.
I
Beneath these honours of a tomb,Greatness in humble ruin lies:
(How earth confines in narrow room
What heroes leave beneath the skies!)
II
Preserve, O venerable pile,Inviolate thy sacred trust;
To thy cold arms the British isle,
Weeping commits her richest dust.
III
Ye gentlest ministers of fate,Attend the monarch as he lies,
And bid the softest slumbers wait
With silken cords to bind his eyes.
IV
Rest his dear sword beneath his head;Round him his faithful arms shall stand:
Fix his bright ensigns on his bed,
The guards and honours of our land.
V
Ye sister-arts of Paint and Verse,Place Albion fainting by his side,
Her groans arising o'er the hearse,
And Belgia sinking when he dy'd.
VI
High o'er the grave Religion setIn solemn gold; pronounce the ground
Sacred, to bar unhallowed feet,
And plant her guardian Virtues round.
VII
Fair Liberty in sables drest,Write his lov'd name upon his urn,
‘William, the scourge of tyrants past,
‘And awe of princes yet unborn.’
VIII
Sweet Peace his sacred relics keep,With olives blooming round her head,
And stretch her wings across the deep
To bless the nations with the shade.
IX
Stand on the pile, immortal Fame,Broad stars adorn thy brightest robe,
Thy thousand voices sound his name
In silver accents round the globe.
X
Flattery shall faint beneath the sound,While hoary truth inspires the song;
Envy grow pale and bite the ground,
And slander gnaw her forky tongue.
XI
Night and the grave remove your gloom;Darkness becomes the vulgar dead;
But glory bids the royal tomb
Disdain the horrors of a shade.
XII
Glory with all her lamps shall burn,And watch the warrior's sleeping clay,
Till the last trumpet rouse his urn
To aid the triumphs of the day.
| The Works of the Reverend and Learned Isaac Watts, D. D. | |