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Roast beef, thongh old, proclaims him stout, What schemes of politics, or laws,
And grace, although a bard, devout.

In Gallic lands the patriot draws !
May Tom, whom Heaven sent down to raise Is then a greater work in hand,
The price of prologues and of plays,

Than all the tomes of Haines's band ? Be every birth-day more a winner,

Or shoots he folly as it fics?

“ Or catches manners as they rise ?4 Digest his thirty-thousandth dinner ; Walk to his grave without reproach,

Or, urg'd by unquench'd native heat,

Does St. John Greenwich sports repeat ?
And scorn a rascal and a coach.

Where (emulous of Chartres' fame)
Evin Chartres' self is scarce a name.

To you (th' all-envy'd gift of Heaven)
TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE'. Th’indulgent goals, unask'd, have given

IN
n beauty or wit,

A form complete in every part,
No inortal as yet

And, to enjoy that gift, the art.
To question your empire has dard;

? What couill a tender mother's care
But men of discerning

Wish better to her favourite heir,
Have thought that in learning,

Than wit, and fame, and lucky hours,
To yield to a lady was hard,

A stock of health, and golden showers,
Impertinent schools,

And graceful Muency of speech,
With musty dull rules,

Precepts before unknown to teach?

& Amidst thy various chbs of fear,
Have reading to females deny'd :
So papists refuse

And gleaming hope, anıl black despair ;
The Bible to use,

Yet let thy friend this truth impart;

A truth I tell with bleeding heart, Lest flocks should be wise as their guide,

(In justice for your labours past) 'Twas a woman at first,

· That every day shall be your last; (ludeed she was curst)

That every hour you life renew
In knowledge that tasted delight,

Is to your injur'd country due.
And sages agree

In spite of fears, of mercy spite,
The laws should decree

My genius still must rail, and write,
To the first of possessors the right.

Haste to thy Twickenham's safe retreat,
Then bravely, fair dame,

And mingle with the grumbling great:
Resume the old claim,

There, half devour'd by spleen, you'll find
Which to your whole sex does belong ;

The rhyming bubbler of mankind;
And let men receive,

There (objects of our inutual bate)
From a second bright Eve,

We'll ridicule both church and state,
The knowledge of right, and of wrong,

But if the first Eve
Hard doom did receive,

EPIGRAM ON MRS. TOFTS.
When only one apple had she,
What a punishment new

A HANDSOME WOMAN WITH A FINE VOICE, BUT VERY "Shall he found out for you,

coveTOUS AND PROUD. 10 Who tasting, have robb’d the whole tree?

So bright is thy beauty, so charming thy song,
As had drawn both the beasts and their Orpheus

along; THE FOURTH EPISTLE OF THE FIRST But such is thy avarice, and such is thy pride, BOOK OF HORACE'S EPISTLES

That the beasts must have starv'd, and the poes

have died. A MODERN IMITATION, SAY!, St. John, who alone peruse

4 The lines here quoted occur in the Essay on With candid eye, the mimic Muse,

Man. * This panegyric on lady Mary Wortley Monta- 5 An tacitam silvas inter reptare salubres? gue might have been suppressed by Mr. Pope, on

Di tibi formam account of her having satirized him in her verses to

Di tibi divitias dederant, artemque fruendi. the Imitator of Horace; which abuse he returned

? Quid voveat dulci nutricula majus alumno, in the first Satire of the second book of Horace.

Quam sapere, et fari posset quæ sentiat, et cui From furious Sappho, scarce a milder fate, Gratia, fama, valetudo contingat abunde, P-d by her love, or libel'd by her hate. S.

-- non deficiente crumena? ? This satire on Lord Bolingbroke, and the praise 8 Inter spem, curamque, timores inter et iras, bestowed on him in a letter to Mr. Richardson, 9 Omnem crede diem tibi diluxisse supremum. where Mr. Pope says,

Me pinguem, et nitidum bene curata cute vises, The sons shall blush their fathers were his focs; Cum ridere voles Epicuri de grege porcum. being so contradictory, probably occasioned the 10 This epigram, first printed anonymously in former to be suppressed. S.

Steele's Collection, and copied in the Miscellanies Ad ALBIUM TIBULLUM.

of Swift and Pope, is ascribed to Pope by sir John Albi, nostrorum sermonum candide judex, Hawkins, in his History of Music. --Mrs. Tofts, Quid nunc te dicam facere in regione Pedana? who was the daughter of a person in the family of Seribere, quod Cassi Parmensis opuscula vincat?' bishop Burnet, is celebrated as a singer little in

6

3

ON ONE WHO MADE LONG EPITAPHS.

Why make I friendships with the great,
EPIGRAM

When I no favour seek?
Or follow girls seven hours in eight :-

I need but once a week.
FREIND, for your Épitaphs I'm griev'd,

Still idle, with a busy air, Where still so much is said,

Deep whimsies to contrive; One half will never be believ'd,

The gayest valetudinaire,
The other never reaca

Most thinking rake alive.
Solicitous for others ends,

'Though fond of dear repose ;
TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER,

Careless or drowsy with my friends,

And frolic with my foes.
ON HIS PAINTING FOR ME THE STATUES OF APOLLO, Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell,
VENUS, AND HERCULES.

For sober, studious days !
Wuar god, what genius did the pencil move And Burlington's delicious meal,
When Kneller painted these?

For sallads, tarts, and pease!
'Twas Friendship--warm as Phæbus, kind as Love, Adieu to all but Gay alone,
And strong as Hercules.

Whose soul sincere and free,
Loves all mankind, but fatters nong,

And so may starve with me.
A FAREWELL TO LONDON,
IN THE YEAR 1715.

A DIALOGUE.
Dear, damn'd, distracting town, farewell !
Thy fools no more I'll teaze :

Pope. Since my old friend is grown so great, This year in peace, ye critics, dwell,

As to be minister of state, Ye harlots, sleep at ease!

I'm told (but 'tis not true I hope) Soft Band rough C, adieu !

That Craggs will be asham'd of Pope. Earl Warwick make your moan,

Cracos. Alas! if I am such a creature, The lively H-k and you

To grow the worse for growing greater : May knock up whores alone.

Why faith, in spite of all my brags, To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd

'Tis Pope must be asham'd of Cragge Till the third watchman toll; Let Jervis gratis paint, and Frowde

Save three-pence and his soul.
Farewell Arbuthnot's raillery

EPIGRAM.
On every learned sot,
And Garth, the best good Christian he,

ENGRATED ON THE COLLAR OF A DOG, WHICH I GAV Although he knows it not.

TO RIS ROYAL RIGHNESS. Lintot, farewell! thy bard must go ;

I

Am his Highness' dog at Kew; Farewell, unhappy Tonson !

Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
Heaven gives thee, for thy loss of Rowe,

Lean Philips, and fat Johnson.
Why should I stay? Both parties rage ;
My vixen mistress squalls;

EPIGRAM.
The wits in envious feuds engage ;

OCCASIONED BY AN INVITATION TO COURT. And Homer (damn him!) calls. The love of arts lies cold and dead

In the lines that you sent are the Muses and In Halifax's urn;

Graces; And not one Muse of all he fed,

You ’ve the Nine in your wit, and the Three in Has yet the grace to mourn. My friends, by turns, my friends confound,

Betray, and are betray'd : Poor Yr's sold for tifty pound, And B- -11 is a jade.

ON AN OLD GATE ferior, either for her voice or manner, to the best

ERECTED IN CHISWICK GARDENS. Italian women. She lived at the introduction of O GATE, how cam’st thou here? the opera into this kingdom, and sung company with Nicolini ; but, being ignorant of gate. I was brought from Chelsea last year, Italian, chanted her recitative in English, in an

Batter'd with wind and weather. swer to bis Italian ; yet the charms of their voices

Inigo Jones put me together.

Sir Hans Sloane overcame the absurdity.

Let me alone : " It is not generally known that the person here

Burlington brought me hither, meant was Dr. Robert Preind, head master of

1742. Westminster-school.

your faces.

KING

CELEBRATED

AT

A FRAGMENT.

Blest courtier! who could king and country please

Yet sacred keep his friendships, and his ease. What are the falling tills, the pendant shades,

Blest peer! his great forefathers' every grace The morning bowers, the evening colonades,

Reflecting, and reflected in his race; But soft recesses for th' uneasy mind

Where other Buckbursts, other Dorsets shine, To sigh unheard in, to the passing wind !

And patrons still, or pocts, deck the line.
So the struck deer, in some sequester'd part,
Lies down to die (the arrow in his heart);
There hid in shades, and wasting day by day,

ON SIR WILLIAM TRUMBAL,
Inly he bleeds, and pants his soul away.

ONE OF THE PRINCIPAL SECRETARIES OF STATE TO

WILLIAM 111. WHO, HAVING RESIGNED HIS
PLACE, DIED IN HIS RETIREMENT AT EASTHAMSTED

IN BERKSHIRE, 1716.
VERSES LEFT BY MR. POPE,

А

PLEASING form; a firm, yet cautious mind; ON HIS LYING IN THE SAME BED WHICH WILMOT THE Sincere, though prudent ; constant, yet resign'd;

EARL OF ROCHESTER SLEPT IN, Honour unchang'd, a principle profest, ADDERBURY, THEN BELONGING TO THE DUKE OP Fix'd to one side, but moderate to the rest : ARGYLE, JULY 9th, 1739.

An honest courtier, yet a patriot too : W11

Just to his prince, and to his country true : ITH QO poetic ardour fir'd

Fill’d with the sense of age, the fire of youth, I press'd the bed where Wilmot lay;

A scorn of wrangling, yet a zeal for truth; That here he lov'd, or here expir’d,

A generous faith, from superstition free: Begets no numbers grave, or gay.

A love to peace, and hate of tyranny ; But in thy roof, Argyle, are bred

Such this man was: who now from Earth removido Such thoughts as proinpt the brave to lie At length enjoys that liberty he lov'd. Stretch'd out in Honour's nobler bed, Beneath a nobler roofthe sky.

ON THE HON. SIMON HARCOURT, Such flames as high in patriots burn, Yet stoop to bless a child or wife;

ONLY SON OF THE LORD CHANCELLOR HARCOURT, AT And such as wicked kings may mourn,

THE CHURCH OF STANTON-HARCOURT IN OXFORDWhen freedom is more dear than life.

To this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art! draw near,
Here lies the friend most lor'd, the son most dear;

Who ne'er knew joy, but friendship might divide,
VERSES TO MR. C.

Or gave his father grief but when he dy'd.
ST. JAMES'S PLACE.

How vain is reason, eloquence how weak !

If Pope must tell what Harcourt cannot speak. LONDON, OCTOBER 22.

Oh let thy once-lov'd friend inscribe thy stone, Few words are best; I wish you well ;

And with a father's sorrow's mix his own.
Bethel, I'm told, will soon be here :
Some morning-walks along the Mall,

ON JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ.
And evening friends, will end the year.

IN WESTMINSTER-ABBEY.
If, in this interval, between
The falling leaf and coming frost,

JACOBUS CRAGGS,
You please to see, on Twit'nam green,

REGI MAGNE BRITANNIÆ A SECRETIO Your friend, your poet, and your host;

ET CONSILIIS SANCTIORIBUS, For three whole days you here may rest,

PRINCIPIS PARITER AC POPULI AMOR ET DELICIT From office, business, news, and strife;

VIXIT TITULIS ET INVIDIA MAJOR And (what most folks would think a jest)

ANXOS, HEU PAUCOS, XXXV.
Want nothing else, except your wife.

Statesman, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,
In action faithful, and in honour clear!

Who broke no promise, serv'd no private end,
EPITAPHS

Who gain'd no title, and who lost no friend.

Ennobled by himself, by all approv'd,
His saltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani
Munere!

Virg.

Prais'd, wept, and honour'd, by the Muse he lord

SHIRE, 1720.

OB. PBB. XVI. MDCCXX.

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Beneath a rude and pameless stone he lies, Lies crown'd with princes' bonours, poets' lays, To which thy tomb shall guide inquiring cyes.

Due to his merit, and brate thirst of praise. Peace to thy gentle sbade, and endless rest!

Living, great Nature fear'd he might outsie Blest in thy genius, in thy love too blest! Her works; and, dying, fears herself may die. One grateful woman to thy fame supplies What a whole thankless land to his denies.

ON GENERAL HENRY WITHERS,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1729.
ON MRS. CORBET,

Here, Withers, rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind,

Thy country's friend, but more of human kind. Here rests a woman, good without pretence,

Oh born to arms! O worth in youth approv'd! Blost with plain reason, and with sober sense :

O soft humanity, in age belov'd! No conquests she, but o'er herself, desir'd,

For thee the hardy veteran drops a tear, No arts essay'd, but not to be admir'd.

And the gay courtier feels the sigh sincere. Passion and pride were to her soul unknown,

Withers, adieu! yet not with thee remove Convinc'd that virtue only is our own.

Thy martial spirit, or thy social love!
So unaffected, so compos'd a mind;

Amidst corruption, luxury, and rage,
So firm, yet soft; so strong, yet so refind; Still leave some ancient virtues to our age:
Heaven, as its purest gold, by tortures try'd;

Nor let us say (those English glories gone)
The saint sustain'd it, but the woman dy'd.

The last true Briton lies beneath this stone.

WHO DIED OF A CANCER IN HER BREAST.

ON THE MONUMENT OF THE HONOURABLE
ROBERT DIGBY, AND OF HIS SISTER MARY,

ERECTED BY THEIR FATHER THE LORD DIGBY,
IN THE CHURCH OF SIERBORNE, IN DORSETSHIRE,

1727.
Go! fair example of untainted youth,
Of modest wisdom, and pacific truth;
Compos'd in sufferings, and in joy sedate,
Good without noise, without pretension great.
Just of thy word, in every thought sincere,
Who knew no wish but what the world might hear:
Of softest manners, unaffected mind,
Lover of peace, and friend of human kind :
Go, liye! for Heaven's eternal vear is thine,
Go, and cxalt thy moral to divine.

And thou, blest maid! attendant on his doom,
Pensive hast follow'd to the silent tomb,
Steer'd the same course to the same quiet shore,
Not parted long, and now to part no inore !
Go then, where only bliss sincere is known!
Go, where to love and to enjoy are one!

Yet take these tears, mortality's relief,
And till we share your joys, forgive our grief:
These little rites, a stone, a serse receive;
'Tis all a father, all a friend can give!

ON MR. ELIJAH FENTON,
AT EASTHAMSTED,

IN BERKS, 1730.
This modest stone, what few vain marbles cas,
May truly say, “ Here lies an honest man:"
A poet, blest beyond the poet's fate,
Whom Heaven kept sacred from the proud and

great :
Foe to loud praise, and friend to learned ease,
Content with Science in the vale of Peace,
Calmly he look'd on either life, and here
Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear;
From Nature's temperate feast rose satisfy'd,
Thank'd Heaven that he had liv'd, and that he dy'da

ON MR. GAY,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1732.
Or manners gentie, of affections mild;
In wit, a man; simplicity, a child:
With native humour tempering virtuous rage,
Form'd to delight at once and lash the age :
Above temptation in a low estate,
And uncorrupted, ev'n among the great:
A safe companion, and an easy friend,
Unblam'd through life, lamented in thy end. •
These are thy honours ! not that here thy bust
Is mix'd with heroes, or with kings thy dust;
But that the worthy and the good shall say,
Striking their pensire bosoms-Here lies Gay

ANOTHER.
Well then, poor Gay lies under ground,

So there's an end of honest Jack:
So little justice here be found,

Tis ten to one he 'll ne'er come back.

ON SIR GODFREY KNELLER,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY, 1723.
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,

VARIATION.
Oh, next him, skill'd to draw the tender tear,
For never heart felt passion more sincere !
To nobler sentiment to fire the brave,
For never Briton more disdain'd a slave.
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest;
Blest in thy genius, in tlry love too blest!
And blest, that, timely from our scene remov'd,
Thy soul enjoys the liberty it lov'd.

To these so mourn'd in death, so lov'd in life;
The childless parent and the widow'd wife,
With tears inscribe this monumental stone,
That holds their ashes and expects her own,

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ON DR. FRANCIS ATTERBURY,

ON BUTLER'S MONUMENT.
BISHOP OF ROCHESTER,

PERHAPS BY MR. POPE'.
WHO DIED IN EXILE AT PARIS, 1732.

Respect to Dryden, Shiffield justly paid, (His only daughter baving expired in his arms,

And noble Villers honour'd Cowley's shade: immediately after she arrived in France to see

But whence this Barber?--that a name so mean him.)

Should, join'd with Butler's, on a tomb be scen:
DIALOGUE.

This pyramid would better far proclain,
To future ages hwnbler Settle's name:

Poet and patron then bad been well pair'd,
Yes, we have liv'l-one pang, and then we part! The city printer, and the city bard.
May Ilearen, dear father! now have all thy heart.
Yet ah! how once we lov’d, remeinber still,
Till you are dust like me.

THE DUNCL4D:
Dear shade! I will.
Then mix this dust with thine-spotless ghost !
O more than fortune, friends, or country lost !
Is there on Karth one care, one wish beside ?

WITH THE PROLEGOMENA OP SCRIBLERUS, TR. Yes“ Sare my country, Heaven,"

UYPERCRITICS OF ARISTARCHUS,
--He said, and dy'd.

AND NOTES VARIORUM.

SE.

HE.

IN FOUR BOOKS.

ON EDMOND DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, A LETTER TO THE PUBLISHER,
WHO DIED IN THE NINETEENTH YEAR OF HIS ACE,

OCCASIONED BY THE FIRST CORRECT EDITION OF THE 1735.

DUNCIAD. If modest youth, with cool reflection crown'd,

It is with pleasure I hear, that you have procured And every opening rirtue blooming round, a correct copy of the Dimeiad, which the many Could save a parent's justest pride from fate, surreptitious ones have rendered so necessary; Os add one patriot to a sinking state;

and it is yet with more, that I am informed it will This weeping marble had not ask'd thy tear,

be attended with a commentary: a work so reOr sadly told how many lopes lie here!

quisite, that I cannot think the author himself The living virtue now had shone approv'd,

would have omitted it, had he approved of the first The senate beard him, and his country lor'd. appearance of this poem. Yet softer honours, anil less noisy fame

Such notes as have occurred to me I herewith Attend the shade of gentle Buckingham:

send you : you will oblige me by inserting them In whom a race, for courage fam'd and art, amongst those which are, or will be, transmitted Ends in the milder merit of the heart;

to you by others; since not only the author's And, chiefs or sages long to Britain given,

friends, biit even strangers, appear engaged by Pays the last tribute of a saint to Heaven. humanity, to iake some care of an orphan of so

much genius and spirit, which its parent seems

to have abandoned from the very beginning, and FOR ONE

suffered to step into the world naked, unguarded, WHO WOULD NOT BE BURIED IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY. and unattended. Heroes and kings! your distance kecp,

It was upon realling some of the abusive papers

lately published, that' my great regard to a person, In peace Ict one poor poet sleep, Who never fatter'd folks like you :

whose friendship I esteem as one of the chief hoLet Horace blush, and Virgil too.

nours of my life, and a much greater respect to truth, than to him or any man living, engaged

me in inquiries, of which the inclosed notes are "ANOTHER, ON THE SAME

the fruit. UNDER this marble, or under this sill, Or under this turf, or e'en what they will;

" Mr. Pope, in one of the prints from ScheeWhatever an heir, or a friend in his stead,

maker's monument of Shakspeare in Westminster Or any good creature shall lay o'er my head, Lics one who ne'er car'd, and still cares not a pin, alderman Barber, by the following couplet, which

Abbey, has sufficiently shown his contempt of What they said, or may say, of the mortal within : is substituted in the place of “ The cloud-capp'd But who, living and dying, serene still and free,

towers, &c.” Trusts in God, that as well as he was, he shall be.

Thus Britain lov'd me; and preserv'd my fame,

Clear from a Barber's or a Benson's name.
LORD CONINGSBY'S EPITAPH'.
Here lies lord Coningsby—be civil;

Pope might probably have suppressed his satire The rest God knows--so does the Devil.

on the alderman, because he was one of Swift's ac

quaintances and correspondents; though in the 1 Ti.is epitaph, originally written on Picus Mi- fourth book of the Dunciad he has an anonymous randula, is applied to F. Chartres, and printed stroke at him : among the works of Swift. See Hawkesworth's So by each bard an alderman shall sit, edition, vol. vi. S.

A heavy lord shall hang at every witor: S.

A. POPE.

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