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self, gave all the turns of mourning to my thoughts; for I pursued no other topic of elegy than what my passion and my senses led me to.

"The poem roves, as my eyes and grief did, from one part of the fabric to the other; it rises from the foundation, salutes the walls, the doors, and the windows, drops a tear upon the roof, and climbs the turret,* that pleasant retreat, where I promised myself many sweet hours of his conversation; there my song wanders amongst the delightful subjects, divine and moral, which used to entertain our happy leisure; and thence descends to the fields and the shady walks, where I so often enjoyed his pleasing discourse; my sorrows diffuse themselves there without a limit: I had quite forgotten all scheme and method of writing, till I correct myself, and rise to the turret again to lament that desolate seat. Now if the critics laugh at the folly of the muse for taking too much notice of the golden ball, let them consider that the meanest thing that belonged to so valuable a person, still gave some fresh and doleful reflections: and I transcribe nature without rule, and represent friendship in a mourning dress, abandoned to the deepest sorrow, and with a negligence becoming woe unfeigned.

"Had I designed a complete elegy, Madam, on your dearest brother, and intended it for public view, I should have followed the usual forms of poetry, so far at least, as to spend some pages in the character and praises of the deceased, and thence have taken occasion to call mankind to complain aloud of the universal and unspeakable loss; but I wrote merely for myself as a friend of the dead, and to ease my full soul by breathing out my own complaints. I knew his

*The turret of the manor-house.

character and virtues so well, that there was no need to mention them while I talked only with myself; for the image of them was ever present with me, which kept the pain at the heart intense and lively, and my tears flowing with my verse.

"Perhaps your Ladyship will expect some divine thoughts and sacred meditations, mingled with a subject so solemn as this is: had I formed a design of offering it to your hands, I had composed a more Christian poem : but it was grief purely natural for a death so surprising that drew all the strokes of it, and therefore my reflections are chiefly of a moral strain. Such as it is, your Ladyship requires a copy of it; but let it not touch your soul too tenderly, nor renew your own mournings. Receive it, Madam, as an offering of love and tears at the tomb of a departed friend, and let it abide with you as a witness of that affectionate respect and honour that I bore him; all which, as your Ladyship's most rightful due, both by merit and by succession, is now humbly offered, by,

"Madam,

"Your Ladyship's most hearty and obedient Servant, "I. WATTS."

TO THE DEAR MEMORY OF MY HONOURED FRIEND,

THOMAS GUNSTON, ESQ.,

Who died November 11, 1700, when he had just finished his seat at Newington.

Of blasted hopes, and of short withering joys,
Sing, heavenly Muse. Try thine ethereal voice
In funeral numbers and a doleful song;

Gunston the just, the generous, and the young,

[graphic]

THE

MANSION HOUSE, AS SEEN FROM

THE CHAPEL.

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