FOR
My own Monument.
I
As Doctors give physic by way of prevention,
Matt alive and in health, of his Tomb-Stone took care,
For delays are unsafe, and his pious intention
May haply be never fulfill'd by his Heir.
II
Then take Matt's word for it, the Sculptor is paid,
That the Figure is fine, pray believe your own eye,
Yet credit but lightly what more may be said,
For we flatter our selves, and teach marble to lye.
III
Yet counting as far as to Fifty his years,
His virtues and vices were as other men's are,
High hopes he conceiv'd, and he smother'd great fears,
In a life party-colour'd, half pleasure, half care.
IV
Nor to business a drudge, nor to faction a slave,
He strove to make int'rest and freedom agree,
In public employments industrious and grave,
And alone with his friends, Lord how merry was he.
V
Now in equipage stately, now humbly on foot,
Both fortunes he try'd, but to neither would trust,
And whirl'd in the round, as the wheel turn'd about,
He found riches had wings, and knew man was but dust.
VI
This verse little polish'd, tho' mighty sincere
Sets neither his titles nor merit to view,
It says that his relics collected lie here,
And no mortal yet knows too if this may be true.
VII
Fierce robbers there are that infest the highway,
So Matt may be kill'd, and his bones never found,
False witness at court, and fierce tempests at sea,
So Matt may yet chance to be hang'd, or be drown'd.
VIII
If his bones lie in earth, roll in sea, fly in air,
To Fate we must yield, and the thing is the same,
And if passing thou giv'st him a smile, or a tear,
He cares not—yet pr'ythee be kind to his Fame.
