After the breath had left Anne’s still lovely body, Mistress Saunders dressed her in a “Brussels lace head-dress, a Holland shift, with tucker and double ruffles of the same lace, and a pair of new kid gloves.”  It was, no doubt, the costume which the actress had commanded, and handsome she must have looked, as many an admirer took one last glimpse of the remains prior to the interment in Westminster Abbey.  All that was mortal of Oldfield lay in state in the Jerusalem Chamber,[A] and then there followed an elaborate funeral, at which were present a host of great men, and the two sons of the deceased, Mr. Maynwaring and young Churchill.  Were these sons less grieved when they found that their mother had left them the major part of her fortune?

[Footnote A:  The solemn lying in state of an English actress in the Jerusalem Chamber, the sorrow of the public over their lost favourite, and the regret of friends in noble, or humble, but virtuous homes, where Mrs. Oldfield had been ever welcome, contrast strongly with the French sentiment towards French players.  It has been already said, that as long as Clairon exercised the power, when she advanced to the footlights, to make the (then standing) pit recoil several feet, by the mere magic of her eyes, the pit, who enjoyed the terror as a luxury, flung crowns to her, and wept at the thought of losing her; but Clairon infirm was Clairon forgotten, and to a decaying actor or actress a French audience is the most merciless in the world.  The brightest and best of them, as with us, died in the service of the public.  Monfleury, Mondory, and Bricourt died of apoplexy, brought on by excess of zeal.  Moliere, who fell in harness, was buried with less ceremony than some favourite dog.  The charming Lecouvreur, that Oldfield of the French stage, whose beauty and intellect were the double charm which rendered theatrical France ecstatic, was hurriedly interred within a saw-pit.  Bishops might be exceedingly interested in, and unepiscopally generous to living actresses of wit and beauty, but the prelates smote them with a “Maranatha!” and an “Avaunt ye!” when dead.—­DR. DORAN.]

Later on Savage was inspired to write that famous poem of his, unsigned though it appeared, on the virtues of the departed: 

  “Oldfield’s no more! and can the Muse forbear
  O’er Oldfield’s grave to shed a grateful tear? 
  Shall she, the Glory of the British Stage,
  Pride of her sex, and wonder of the age;
  Shall she, who, living, charm’d th’ admiring throng,
  Die undistinguish’d, and not claim a song? 
  No; feeble as it is, I’ll boldly raise
  My willing voice, to celebrate her praise,
  And with her name immortalise my lays. 
  Had but my Muse her art to touch the soul,
  Charm ev’ry sense, and ev’ry pow’r control,
  I’d paint her as she was—­the form divine,
  Where ev’ry lovely grace united shine;
  A mein majestic, as the wife of Jove;
  An air as winning as the Queen of Love: