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October 18, 1770. No.
303. |
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On the much-lamented Death of the Right Hon.
William Beckford, Esq; Lord Mayor of London.
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Though
unavailing, heart-felt sorrows rise,
When Death remorseless aims his
ruthless Dart;
Though Tears, unheeded, fill our grief-swol’n Eyes,
’Tis the sure Tribute of a
grateful Heart.
Not in the proud Mausoleum’s useless
State, 5
The Dead we honour, or their Mem’ry
raise;
The most lamented are the truly Great,
A Nation’s Grief is Beckford’s
loudest Praise.
E.
G.
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October 18, 1770. No.
303. |
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On the DEATH of the much-lamented LORD
MAYOR
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Nature unkind,
has cast the fatal Dart,
And struck the hardy Vet’ran to the Heart;
The first of Patriots, and the best of Men,
"We ne’er shall look upon his Like again."
No Court Dependant, Slave to no Man’s
Crimes, 5
Above Corruption in the worst of Times:
Whose honest Virtue has, unshaken, stood,
Whose greatest Glory was his Country’s Good.
Mourn Freedom’s Sons!—your Io Pæans sing!
He was alone of Liberty the
King: 10
This last Respect his matchless Zeal shall claim,
And future Annals celebrate his Name.
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October 18, 1770. No.
303. |
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On the Death of the Right Hon. William
Beckford, Esq; late Lord Mayor of the City of London.
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And is he dead?
Then may we mourn indeed!
To prove our manly Virtue, Heav’n decreed
This fatal Stroke. Ye Sons of Freedom join,
And shed one grateful Tear at Beckford’s Shrine,
Whose manly Firmness and unshaken
Zeal 5
For Britain’s Good made petty Tyrants feel;
Made those who dar’d your sacred Rights invade,
To shudder at the Progress they had made,
And nobly dar’d deliver to a Throne
Important Truths, to Kings but little
known. 10
By his Example, as by him inspir’d,
With love of Loyalty and Freedom fir’d,
Pursue the noble Plan by him pursued,
And look to Chatham for your Country’s Good.
T.G.
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