oining, in the same
inscription, Latin and English, or verse and prose. If either language
be preferable to the other, let that only be used; for no reason can be
given why part of the information should be given in one tongue, and
part in another, on a tomb, more than in any other place, or any other
occasion; and to tell all that can be conveniently told in verse, and
then to call in the help of prose, has always the appearance of a very
artless expedient, or of an attempt unaccomplished. Such an epitaph
resembles the conversation of a foreigner, who tells part of his meaning
by words, and conveys part by signs.

V.

INTENDED FOR MR. ROWE.

_In Westminster Abbey_[154].

Thy reliques, Rowe, to this fair urn we trust,
And, sacred, place by Dryden's awful dust;
Beneath a rude and nameless stone he lies,
To which thy tomb shall guide inquiring eyes.
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest!
Blest in thy genius, in thy love, too, blest!
One grateful woman to thy fame supplies
What a whole thankless land to his denies.

Of this inscription the chief fault is, that it belongs less to Rowe,
for whom it is written, than to Dryden, who was buried near him; and,
indeed, gives very little information concerning either.

To wish "Peace to thy shade," is too mythological to be admitted into a
Christian temple: the ancient worship has infected almost all our other
compositions, and might, therefore, be contented to spare our epitaphs.
Let fiction, at least, cease with life, and let us be serious over the
grave.

VI.

ON MRS. CORBET,

_Who died of a cancer in her breast_[155].

Here rests a woman, good without pretence,
Blest with plain reason, and with sober sense:
No conquest she, but o'er herself, desir'd;
No arts essay'd, but not to be admir'd.
Passion and pride were to her soul unknown,
Convinc'd that virtue only is our own.
So unaffected, so compos'd a mind,
So firm, yet soft, so strong, yet so refin'd,
Heav'n, as its purest gold, by tortures try'd;
The saint sustain'd it, but the woman dy'd.

I have always considered this as the most valuable of all Pope's
epitaphs; the subject of it is a character not discriminated by any
shining or eminent peculiarities; yet that which really makes though not
the splendour, the felicity of life, and that which every wise