The epitaph praises Sir Godfrey Kneller, a portrait painter, saying he was taught by Heaven, not by any earthly master, and that his art captured not just appearance but inner thought. For two ages, he preserved beauty and greatness from being lost to time. Now he lies buried with the honors of princes and the verses of poets, a reward for his merit and ambition. The final couplet adds a striking twist: while Kneller lived, Nature herself worried he’d surpass her creations; now that he’s dead, Nature fears her own death, as if without his hand to record her works, they may perish. The mood is one of confident admiration, mixing epitaph conventions with a bold, almost playful claim about art’s power to outlast and even threaten the natural world. It feels grand but light, a tribute that turns mortality into a kind of artistic joke.
Epitaph. on Sir Godfrey Kneller, in Westminster Abbey, 1723. — Summary
Kneller, by Heaven, and not a master, taught, Whose art was Nature, and whose pictures Thought; Now for two ages having snatch'd from Fate Whate'er was beauteous, or whate'er was great, Lies crown'd with princes' honours, poets' lays, Due to his merit, and brave thirst of praise.
Living, great Nature fear'd he might outvie Her works; and, dying, fears herself may die.