VERSES TO MR. C. ST. JAMES'S PLACE. London, Oct. 22. FEW words are best; I wish you well; Bethel, I'm told, will soon be here; Some morning walks along the mall, And evening friends will end the year. If, in this interval, between The falling leaf and coming frost, For three whole days you here may rest From office business, news, and strife; And (what most folks would think a jest) Want nothing else, except your wife. TO MR. GAY, WHO HAD CONGRATULATED POPE ON FINISHING HIS An, friend! 'tis true-this truth you lovers know In vain my structures rise, my gardens grow, In vain fair Thames reflects the double scenes Of hanging mountains, and of sloping greens : Joy lives not here, to happier seats it flies, To sigh unheard in to the passing winds? TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU. IN beauty, or wit, No mortal as yet To question your empire has dar'd; But men of discerning Have thought that in learning, To yield to a lady was hard. Impertinent schools, With musty dull rules, Have reading to females denied: So papists refuse The Bible to use, Lest flocks should be wise as their guide. 'Twas a woman at first, (Indeed she was curst) In knowledge that tasted delight, The laws should decree To the first possessor the right. Then bravely, fair dame, Resume the old claim, Which to your whole sex does belong; From a second bright Eve, The knowledge of right and of wrong. But if the first Eve Hard doom did receive, When only one apple had she, What a punishment new Shall be found out for you, Who tasting have robb'd the whole tree? EXTEMPORANEOUS LINES ON A PORTRAIT OF LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU, PAINTED BY KNELLER. THE playful smiles around the dimpled mouth, That happy air of majesty and truth, So would I draw: but oh! 'tis vain to try; My narrow genius does the power deny. The equal lustre of the heavenly mind, LINES SUNG BY DURASTANTI, WHEN SHE TOOK LEAVE OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. GENEROUS, gay, and gallant nation, All but Cupid's gentle darts! From your charms, O who would run? Happy soil, adieu! adieu! In arms, in arts, be still more shining; All your joys be still increasing; All your tastes be still refining; All your jars for ever ceasing: UPON THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH'S SEE, sir, here's the grand approach, This way is for his Grace's coach; There lies the bridge, and here's the clock; Observe the lion and the cock, The spacious court, the colonnade, And mark how wide the hall is made! Thanks, sir, cried I, 'tis very fine, But where d'ye sleep, or where d'ye dine? VERSES LEFT BY MR. POPE, ON HIS LYING IN THE SAME BED WHICH WILMOT, THE ARGYLE, JULY 9TH, 1739. WITH no poetic ardour fir'd I press the bed where Wilmot lay; Begets no numbers grave or gay. |