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Ở THE MEMORY OF JOHN SHEFFIELD DUKE of BUCKINGHA M.

THESE

HIS MORE LASTING REMAINS

(THE MONUMENT OF HIS MIND,

AND MORE PERFECT IMAGE OF HIMSELF)

are here collected by the direction of CATHARINE his DUCHESSE:

desirous that his Ashes may be honoured,

And his Fame & Merit committed

to the test of

TIME, TRUTH & POSTERITY.

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Nthose cold climates, where the Sun ap

pears

Unwillingly, and hides his face in tears,
XXX A dismal vale lies in a defart ille ,
On which indulgent Heav’n did never smile.
There a thick grove of aged cypress trees, S
Which none without an awful horror fees,
Into its wither'd arms, depriv'd of leaves,
Whole flocks of ill-presaging birds receives.
Poisons are all the plants that foil will bear ,
And winter is the only season there.

ro'
Millions of graves o'erspread the spacious field,
And springs of blood a thousand rivers yield;
Whose streams, oppress’d with carcasses and bones,
Instead of gentle murmurs, pour forth groans.

Within this vale a famous Temple stands, IS
Old as the World it felf, which it commands :
VOL.I.

A Round

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