Can gratitude outpant the silent breath? INSCRIPTION ON A GROTTO OF SHELLS AT CRUX-EASTON, THE HERE, shunning idleness at once and praise, But fate disposed them in this humble sort, 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; VERSES LEFT BY MR. POPE, ON HIS LYING IN THE SAME BED WHICH WILMOT, EARL OF ROCHESTER, USED AT ATTERBURY, A SEAT OF THE DUKE OF ARGYLE'S IN OXFORDSHIRE, JULY 9, 1739. WITH no poetic ardour fired, I press the bed where Wilmot lay; Such flames as high in patriots burn, TO HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF ARGYLE, UPON READING THE PREAMBLE TO THE PATENT MINDLESS of Fate, in these low vile abodes, This, Campbell, be thy pride, illustrious peer, EPIGRAM ON MRS. TOFTS, A HANDSOME WOMAN WITH A FINE VOICE, BUT VERY COVETOUS AND PROUD1. So bright is thy beauty, so charming thy song, As had drawn both the beasts and their Orpheus along; But such is thy avarice, and such is thy pride, That the beasts must have starved, and the poet have died. EPIGRAM ON ONE WHO MADE LONG EPITAPHS 2. FREIND, for your Epitaphs I'm grieved, One half will never be believed, The other never read. 1 This epigram, first printed anonymously in Steele's Collection, and copied in the Miscellanies of Swift and Pope, is ascribed to Pope by Sir John Hawkins, in his History of Music. Mrs. Tofts, who was the daughter of a person in the family of Bishop Burnet, is celebrated as a singer little inferior, either for her voice or manner, to the best Italian women. She lived at the introduction of the opera into this kingdom, and sung in company with Nicolini; but, being ignorant of Italian, chanted her recitative in English, in answer to his Italian; yet the charms of their voices overcame the absurdity. 2 It is not generally known that the person here meant was Dr. Freind, head master of Westminster-school. TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER, ON HIS PAINTING FOR ME THE STATUES OF APOLLO, WHAT god, what genius did the pencil move Twas Friendship-warm as Phoebus, kind as [Love, A FAREWELL TO LONDON. 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 Hk and you May knock up whores alone. To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd And Garth, the best good Christian he, Lintot, farewell! thy bard must go; Farewell, unhappy Tonson! Heaven gives thee, for thy loss of Rowe, Why should I stay? Both parties rage; And Homer (damn him!) calls. And not one Muse of all he fed, My friends, by turns, my friends confound, 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, Most thinking rake alive. Solicitous for other ends, 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. |