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XIV.

On EDMUND D.of BUCKINGHAM,

Who died in the Nineteenth Year of

his Age, 1735.

1 F modest Youth, with cool Reflection crown'd,

And ev'ry op’ning Virtue blooming round, Could save a Parent's justest Pride from fate, Or add one Patriot to a finking state : This weeping marble had not ask'd thy Tear, Or sadly told, how many Hopes lie here ! The living Virtue now had shone approv'd, The Senate heard him, and his Country lov’d. Yet softer Honours, and less noisy Fame Attend the shade of gentle BUCKINGHAM: In whom a Race, for Courage fam'd and Art, Ends in the milder Merit of the Heart ; And Chiefs or Sages long to Britain giv’n, Pays the last Tribute of a Saint to Heav'n.

XV.

For One who would not be buried in

Westminster-Abbey. U EROES, and Kings! your distance keep: N1 In peace let one poor Poet sleep, Who never flatter'd Folks like you ; Let Horace blush, and Virgil too.

Another, on the fame.

TINDER this Marble, or under this Sill,

Or under this Turf, or e’en what they will ; Whatever an Heir, or a Friend in his stead, Or any good creature shall lay o'er my head, Lies one who ne'er car'd, and still cares not a pin What they said, or may say of the mortal within : But, who living and dying, serene still and free, Trusts in God, that as well as he was, he shall be.

ares

MEMOIRS

Of the Extraordinary

Life, Works, and Discoveries

. OF

MARTINUS SCRIBLERUS.

INTRODUCTION

To the READER.

YN the Reign of Queen Anne, (which, pot

withstanding those happy Times which suc

ceeded, every Englishman may remember) thou may'st possibly, gentle Reader, have seen a certain venerable Person who frequented the outfide of the Palace of St. James's, and who, by th Gravity of his Deportment and Habit, was gene rally taken for a decay'd Gentleman of Spain. His ftature was tall, his visage long, his complexion olive, his brows were black and even, his eyes hollow yet piercing, his nofe inclin'd to aquiline, his beard neglected and mix'd with grey: All this contributed to fpread a folemn Melancholy over his countenance. Pythagoras was not more filent, Pyrrho more motionless, nor Zeno more auftere. His Wig was as black and smooth as the plumes of a Raven, and hung as ftrait as the hair of a River God rising from the water. His Cloak so compleatly covered his whole person, that whether or no he had any other cloaths (much less any linnen) under it, I shall not say; but his sword appear'd a full yard behind him, and his manner of

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