Beware of Latin authors all! Nor think your verses sterling, Though with a golden pen you scrawl, And scribble in a Berlin. For not the desk with silver nails, Nor standish well japanned avails Hear how a ghost in dead of night, Rare Imp of Phoebus, hopeful youth, Ah! why did he write poetry, A desk he had of curious work, Now as he scrached to fetch up thought, All upright as a pin. With whiskers, band, and pantaloon, "Ho! Master Sam," quoth Sandys's sprite, "Write on, nor let me scare ye; Forsooth, if rhymes fall in not right, To Budgell seek, or Carey. "I hear the beat of Jacob's drums, Poor Ovid finds no quarter! See first the merry P comes1 In haste, without his garter. "Then lords and lordlings, squires and knights, "What Fenton will not do, nor Gay, "If Justice Philips' costive head "Let Warwick's muse with Ashurst join, "L 2 himself, that lively lord, Who bows to every lady, Shall join with F 3 in one accord, And be like Tate and Brady. "Ye ladies too draw forth your pen, I pray where can the hurt lie? Since you have brains as well as men, "Now, Tonson, 'list thy forces all, "A metamorphosis more strange "To what" (quoth squire) "shall Ovid change?" Quoth Sandys: "To waste paper." 1 Supposed to be Lord Pembroke. 3 Frowde. Supposed to be Lord Lansdowne, EPITAPHS ON JOHN HUGHES AND WHEN eastern lovers feed the fun'ral fire, I. Think not, by rig'rous judgment seized, II. Live well, and fear no sudden fate; Mercy alike to kill or save. Virtue unmoved can hear the call, EPIGRAM. YES! 'tis the time (I cried,) impose the chain, I half could wish this people should be saved. Faith lost, and hope, our charity begins; If this can cover multitude of sins, To take the only way to be forgiven. 1 These were two rustic lovers who were simultaneously strnck by lightning beneath a hay-stack on the last day of July 1718. Pope rs. lates their story in a letter to Lady M. W. Montagu. ON THE COUNTESS OF BURLINGTON PALLAS grew vapourish once, and odd, Nor work, nor play, nor paint, nor sing. Jove frowned, and, "Use," he cried, "those eyes So skilful, and those hands so taper; Do something exquisite and wise" She bowed, obeyed him, and cut paper. This vexing him who gave her birth, Pallas, you give yourself strange airs; Alas! one bad example shown; ON A PICTURE OF QUEEN CAROLINE, DRAWN BY LADY BURLINGTON. PEACE, flattering Bishop! lying Dean!1 1 Alured, Dean of Carlisle, is the dean alluded to; he wrote a panegyric on Queen Caroline. SONG,1 BY A PERSON OF QUALITY. WRITTEN IN THE YEAR 1733 I a slave in thy dominions; Mild Arcadians, ever blooming, Thus the Cyprian goddess weeping, Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers; Gloomy Pluto, king of terrors, Mournful cypress, verdant willow, Melancholy smooth Mæander, With thy flow'ry chaplets crown'd. Thus when Philomela, drooping, A pleasant burlesque on the style of certain descriptive poets. |