EPIGRAM ON THE TOASTS OF THE KIT-CAT

CLUB, ANNO 1716.

WHENCE deathless 'Kit-cat' took its name,

Few critics can unriddle:

Some say from 'Pastrycook' it came,
And some, from 'cat' and 'fiddle.'

From no trim beaux its name it boasts,
Gray statesmen, or green wits;
But from this pellmell pack of toasts
Of old cats' and young 'kits.'

TO A LADY, WITH THE TEMPLE OF FAME.

WHAT'S fame with men, by custom of the nation, Is call'd, in women, only reputation :

About them both why keep we such a pother? Part you with one, and I'll renounce the other.

ON THE COUNTESS OF BURLINGTON
CUTTING PAPER.

PALLAS grew vapourish once and odd ;
She would not do the least right thing,
Either for goddess or for god,

Nor work, nor play, nor paint, nor sing.

Jove frown'd, and "Use (he cried) those eyes
So skilful, and those hands so taper;
Do something exquisite and wise-"
She bow'd, obey'd him, and cut paper.

This vexing him who gave her birth,
Thought by all heaven a burning shame;
What does she next, but bids, on earth,
Her Burlington do just the same.

Pallas, you give yourself strange airs;
But sure you'll find it hard to spoil
The sense and taste of one that bears
The name of Saville and of Boyle.

Alas! one bad example shown,

How quickly all the sex pursue ! See, madam, see the arts o'erthrown Between John Overton and you!

ON DRAWINGS OF THE STATUES OF APOLLO, VENUS, AND HERCULES,

MADE FOR POPE BY SIR GODFREY KNELLER.

WHAT god, what genius did the pencil move,
When Kneller painted these?

'Twas friendship, warm as Phoebus, kind as Love, And strong as Hercules.

ARGUS.

WHEN wise Ulysses, from his native coast
Long kept by wars, and long by tempests toss'd,
Arriv'd at last, poor, old, disguis'd, alone,

To all his friends, and even his Queen unknown:
Chang'd as he was, with age, and toils, and cares,
Furrow'd his reverend face, and white his hairs,
In his own palace forc'd to ask his bread,
Scorn'd by those slaves his former bounty fed,
Forgot of all his own domestic crew;

The faithful dog alone his rightful master knew!
Unfed, unhous'd, neglected, on the clay,
Like an old servant now cashier'd, he lay ;
Touch'd with resentment of ungrateful man,
And longing to behold his ancient lord again.
Him when he saw he rose, and crawl'd to meet,
('Twas all he could) and fawn'd and kiss'd his feet,
Seiz'd with dumb joy: then falling by his side,
Own'd his returning lord, look'd up, and died!

PRAYER OF BRUTUS.

FROM GEOFFREY OF MONMOUTH.

GODDESS of woods, tremendous in the chase,
To mountain wolves and all the savage race,
Wide o'er th' aerial vault extend thy sway,
And o'er th' infernal regions void of day.

On thy third reign look down; disclose our fate,
In what new station shall we fix our seat?
When shall we next thy hallow'd altars raise,
And choirs of virgins celebrate thy praise?

AN INSCRIPTION UPON A PUNCHBOWL,

IN THE SOUTH SEA YEAR, FOR A CLUB,

CHASED WITH JUPITER PLACING CALLISTO IN THE

SKIES, AND EUROPA WITH THE BULL.'

COME, fill the South Sea goblet full;
The gods shall of our stock take care;
Europa pleas'd accepts the Bull,

And Jove with joy puts off the Bear.

LINES ON A GROTTO, AT CRUX-EASTON,

HANTS.

HERE shunning idleness at once and praise,
This radiant pile nine rural sisters2 raise;

1 Now first printed, from the handwriting of Dr. Birch on a fly leaf of the first vol. of Warburton's Pope's Works, formerly belonging to Cracherode, in the British Museum. "This Epigram of Mr. Pope was communicated by the Revd. Dr. Warburton to Tho. Birch."

2 The Misses Lisle.

The glittering emblem of each spotless dame,
Clear as her soul, and shining as her frame;
Beauty which nature only can impart,

And such a polish as disgraces art;

But fate dispos'd them in this humble sort,
And hid in deserts what would charm a court.

ON BENTLEY'S MILTON.

DID Milton's prose, O Charles, thy death defend?
A furious foe unconscious proves a friend.
On Milton's verse did Bentley comment? Know,
A weak officious friend becomes a foe.

While he but sought his author's fame to further,
The murderous critic has aveng'd thy murther.

LINES.

ALL hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade, Scene of my youthful loves, and happier hours! Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd,

And gently press'd my hand, and said, Be ours. Take all thou e'er shalt have, a constant Muse:

At court thou mayst be lik'd, but nothing gain; Stocks thou mayst buy and sell, but always lose;

And love the brightest eyes, but love in vain.