EPIGRAM ON MRS. TOFTS, A handsome Woman with a fine Voice, but very covetous and proud.* So bright is thy beauty, so charming thy song, EPIGRAM, On one who made long Epitaphs.t The other never read. TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER, WHAT god, what genius, did the pencil move 'Twas Friendship-warm as Phoebus, kind as Love, And strong as Hercules. * 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 compa. ny with Nicolini; but, being ignorant of Italian, chant ed her recitative in English, in answer to his Italian yet the charms of their voices overcame the absurdity. It is not generally known that the person here meant was Dr. Robert Friend, head master of West minster-school A FAREWELL TO LONDON. In the Year 1715. DEAR, damn'd distracting town, farewell! Ye harlots, sleep at ease. Soft B*** and rough C*****, adieu ! The lively H*****k and you May knock up whores alone. To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd Farewell Arbuthnot's raillery On every learned sot, And Garth, the best good christian ho, Lintot, farewell; thy bard must go! Farewell, unhappy Tonson! Heaven gives thee, for thy loss of Rowe, Lean Philips, and fat Johnson. Why should I stay? Both parties rago; The wits in envious feuds engage; And Homer (damn him!) calls. The love of arts lies cold and dead And not one Muse of all he fed, Has yet the grace to mourn. My friends, by turns, my friends confound, Betray, and are betray'd: 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, Though fond of dear repose; Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell, Adieu to all but Gay alone, Whose soul sincere and free, Loves all mankind, but flatters none, And so may starve with me. 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, EPIGRAM, Engraved on the Collar of a Dog, which I gave to his I AM his Highness' dog at Kew; EPIGRAM, Occasioned by an Invitation to Court. In the lines that you sent are the muses and graces: You've the nine in your wit, and the three in you: faces. ON AN OLD GATE Erected in Chiswick Gardens. O GATE, how camest thou here? Gate. I was brought from Chelsea last year, Batter'd with wind and weather; Inigo Jones put me together; Sir Hans Sloane Let me alone: Burlington brought me hither. 1742. A FRAGMENT. WHAT are the falling rills, the pendent shades, VERSES LEFT BY MR. POPE, On his lying in the same Bed which Wilmot the cele brated Earl of Rochester slept in, at Adderbury, then belonging to the Duke of Argyle, July 9th, 1739. WITH no poetic ardour fired I press'd the bed where Wilmot lay; But in thy roof, Argyle, are bred Such thoughts as prompt the brave tɔ lie; Such flames as high in patriots burn, VERSES TO MR. C. St. James's Place, London, October 22. The falling leaf and coming frost, |