SON G.

Written in the Year 1732. By the Same.

I.

AY, MYRA, why is gentle Love

A ftranger to that mind,

Which pity and esteem can move;

Which can be just and kind?

II.

Is it because you fear to share
The ills that Love moleft:

The jealous Doubt, the tender Care,
That rack the am'rous breaft ?

III.

Alas! by fome degree of woe

We every bliss must gain :

The heart can ne'er a transport know,
That never feels a pain.

Written

Written at Mr. POPE'S Houfe at Twickenham, which he had lent to Mrs. Grenville.

G

In AUGUST 1735. By the Same.

I.

O, Thames, and tell the bufy town,

Not all its wealth or pride

Could tempt me from the charms that crown /

Thy rural flow'ry fide:

11.

Thy flow'ry fide, where POPE has plac'd

The Mufes' green retreat,
With ev'ry fmile of Nature grac'd,

With every Art compleat,

III.

But now, fweet bard, thy heav'nly fong

Enchants us here no more;

Their darling glory loft too long

Thy once-lov'd fhades deplore.

The author's aunt, afterwards created countefs Temple. She was widow and relict of Richard Grenville of Wootton, Efq; and died

Oftober 6, 175a,

IV. Yet

IV.

Yet ftill for beauteous Grenville's fake,
The Mufes here remain ;

Grenville, whofe eyes have power to make

A POPE of every swain.

NONE

By the Same.

[ONE without Hope e'er lov'd the brightest Fair,
But Love can hope where Reason would defpair.

To

XXXXX

To Mr. WEST, at Wickham ".

Written in the Year 1740.

By the Same.

AIR Nature's fweet fimplicity

F

With elegance refin'd,

Well in thy Seat, my friend, I fee,

But better in thy Mind.

To both from courts and all their ftate

Eager I fly, to prove
Joys far above a courtier's fate,
Tranquillity and love.

a Gilbert Weft, Efq; the author's coufin.

b Near Croyden.

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XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

To Mifs LUCY FORTESCUE.

ONCE

By the Same.

NCE by the Mufe alone infpir'd
I fung my am'rous ftrains :

No ferious love my bofom fir'd;
Yet every tender maid, deceiv'd,
The idly mournful tale believ'd;
And wept my fancy'd pains.

But Venus now to punish me,
For having feign'd fo well,
Has made my heart fo fond of thee,
That not the whole Aonian quire
Can accents foft enough infpire,
Its real flame to tell.

a The authors' first lady, whofe death, which happened 19th January 1746-7, he so pathetically lamented in the Monody printed in this volume,

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