Alexander Pope wrote these lines in 1720 as an epitaph for Simon Harcourt, only son of the Lord Chancellor, buried in a church in Oxfordshire. The speaker is Pope himself, the grieving friend asked to inscribe the stone. He invites any passerby to draw near and mourn a man both loved friend and dearest son. With painful economy, the epitaph says Harcourt never felt joy unless he could share it, and gave his father sorrow only by dying. Pope then doubts the power of words: how weak are reason and eloquence if he must speak for someone who can no longer speak for himself. The last couplet is a plea—let me, your once-loved friend, write your epitaph, mixing my own sorrow with a father’s. The mood is intimate and quietly devastated. The verse feels less like a public monument than a whispered bond between mourners, fusing their grief into a few carved lines.
Epitaph. on the Hon. Simon Harcourt, Only Son of the Lord Chancellor — Summary
HARCOURT, AT THE CHURCH OF STANTON HARCOURT, IN OXFORDSHIRE, 1720.
To this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art, draw near; Here lies the friend most loved, the son most dear: Who ne'er knew joy, but friendship might divide, Or gave his father grief but when he died.
How vain is reason, eloquence how weak! If Pope must tell what Harcourt cannot speak. Oh, let thy once-loved friend inscribe thy stone, And, with a father's sorrows, mix his own!