A FAREWELL TO LONDON. In the Year 1715. DEAR, damn'd distracting town, farewell! Ye harlots, sleep at ease. Soft B*** and rough C*****, adieu! Earl Warwick make your moan, The lively H*****k and you May knock up whores alone. To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd On every learned sot, And Garth, the best good christian he, Lintot, farewell; thy bard must go! Heaven gives thee, for thy loss of Rowe, Lean Philips, and fat Johnson. Why should I stay? Both parties rage; My vixen mistress squalls; The wits in envious feuds engage; And Homer (damn him!) calls. The love of arts lies cold and dead And not one Muse of all he fed, Has yet the grace to mourn. My friends, by turns, my friends confound, Betray, and are betray'd: Poor Y***r's sold for fifty pound, And B******ll is a jade. Why make I friendships with the great, Or follow girls seven hours in eight ?- Still idle, with a busy air, The gayest valetudinaire, Though fond of dear repose; Adieu to all but Gay alone, Whose soul sincere and free, Loves all mankind, but flatters none, And so may starve with me. Pope. A DIALOGUE. SINCE my old friend is grown so great I'm told (but 'tis not true I hope) To grow the worse for growing greater, EPIGRAM, Engraved on the Collar of a Dog, which I gave to his I AM his Highness' dog at Kew; EPIGRAM, Occasioned by an Invitation to Court. IN the lines that you sent are the muses and graces: You've the nine in your wit, and the three in you! faces. ON AN OLD GATE Erected in Chiswick Gardens. O GATE, how camest thou here? Gate. I was brought from Chelsea last year, Batter'd with wind and weather; Inigo Jones put me together; Sir Hans Sloane Let me alone: Burlington brought me hither. 1742. A FRAGMENT. WHAT are the falling rills, the pendent shades, So the struck deer, in some sequester'd part, VERSES LEFT BY MR. POPE, On his lying in the same Bed which Wilmot the celo brated Earl of Rochester slept in, at Adderbury, then belonging to the Duke of Argyle, July 9th, 1739. WITH no poetic ardour fired I press'd the bed where Wilmot lay; But in thy roof, Argyle, are bred Such thoughts as prompt the brave to lie; Such flames as high in patriots burn, VERSES TO MR. C. St. James's Place, London, October 22. The falling leaf and coming frost, EPITAPHS. His saltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani ON CHARLES EARL OF DORSET, In the Church of Withyam, in Sussex. His anger moral, and his wisdom gay. Bless'd satirist! who touch'd the mean so true, As show'd vice had his hate and pity too. Bless'd courtier! who could king and country please, Where other Buckhursts, other Dorsets shine, ON SIR WILLIAM TRUMBALL, One of the principal Secretaries of State to King William the Third, who, having resigned his place, died in his Retirement at Easthamstead, in Berk shire, 1716. A PLEASING form; a firm, yet cautious mind; |