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VERSES TO MR. C.
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, You please to see, on Twitnam green,
Your friend, your poet and your host;
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
HOUSE AND GARDENS.
An, friend ! 'tis true—this truth you lovers
knowIn 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,
What are the gay parterre, the chequer'd shade,
TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU.
IN beauty, or wit,
No mortal as yet
But men of discerning
Have thought that in learning, To yield to a lady was hard.
With musty dull rules, Have reading to females denied :
So papists refuse
The Bible to use,
'Twas a woman at first,
(Indeed she was curst) In knowledge that tasted delight,
And sages agree
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;
And let men receive,
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?
ON A PORTRAIT OF LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU,
PAINTED BY KNELLER.
THE playful smiles around the dimpled mouth,
The equal lustre of the heavenly mind,
LINES SUNG BY DURASTANTI, WHEN SHE
TOOK LEAVE OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.
GENEROUS, gay, and gallant nation,
Bold in arms, and bright in arts ;
All but Cupid's gentle darts !
Happy soil, adieu! adieu ! Let old charmers yield to new.
In arms, in arts, be still more shining ; All your joys be still increasing;
All your tastes be still refining ;
But let old charmers yield to new :
UPON THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH'S
HOUSE AT WOODSTOCK.
Thanks, sir, cried I, 'tis very fine,
VERSES LEFT BY MR. POPE, ON HIS LYING IN THE SAME BED WHICH WILMOT, THE
CELEBRATED EARL OF ROCHESTER, SLEPT IN AT ADDERBURY, THEN BELONGING TO THE DUKE OF
ARGYLE, JULY 9TH, 1739. With no poetic ardour fir'd
I press the bed where Wilmot lay; That here he lor'd, or here expir'd,
Begets no numbers grave or gay.