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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, 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,
And only dwells where Wortley casts her eyes.

What are the gay parterre, the chequer'd shade,
The morning bower, the evening colonnade,
But soft recesses of uneasy minds,
To sigh unheard in to the passing winds?
So the struck deer in some sequester'd part
Lies down to die, the arrow at his heart;
He, stretch'd unseen in coverts hid from day,
Bleeds drop by drop, and pants his life away.

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,

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?

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,
Where every grace with every virtue's join'd;
Learning not vain, and wisdom not severe,
With greatness easy, and with wit sincere;
With just description show the soul divine,
And the whole princess in my work should shine

LINES SUNG BY DURASTANTI, WHEN SHE

TOOK LEAVE OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.

GENEROUS, gay, and gallant nation,

Bold in arms, and bright in arts ;
Land secure from all invasion,

All but Cupid's gentle darts !
From your charms, O who would run ?
Who would leave you for the sun ?

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 ;
All your jars for ever ceasing:

But let old charmers yield to new :
Happy soil, adieu! adieu!

UPON THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH'S

HOUSE AT WOODSTOCK.
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!
The chimneys are so well design'd,
They never smoke in any wind.
This gallery's contriv'd for walking,
The windows to retire and talk in;
The council-chamber for debate,
And all the rest are rooms of state.

Thanks, sir, cried I, 'tis very fine,
But where d'ye sleep, or where d'ye dine?
I find by all you have been telling
That 'tis a house, but not a dwelling.

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.

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