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SONG BY A PERSON OF QUALITY.
Written in the Year 1733. FLUTTERING spread thy purple pinions,
Gentle Cupid, o'er my heart; I a slave in thy dominions ;
Nature must give way to art. Mild Arcadians, ever blooming,
Nightly nodding o'er your flocks, See my weary days consuming,
All beneath yon fiowery rocks. Thus the Cyprian goddess weeping,
Mourn'd Adonis, darling youth; Him the boar, in silence creeping,
Gored with unrelenting tooth. Cynthia, tune harmonious numbers ;
Fair discretion, string the lyre ; Soothe my ever-waking slumbers :
Bright Apollo, lend thy choir. Gloomy Pluto, king of terrors,
Arm'd in adamantine chains, Lead me to the crystal mirrors,
Watering soft Elysian plains. Mournful cypress, verdant willow,
Gilding my Aurelia's brows, Morpheus hovering o'er my pillow,
Hear me pay my dying vows. Melancholy smooth Mæander,
Swiftly purling in a round, On thy margin lovers wander,
With thy flowery chaplets crown'd. Thus when Philomela drooping,
Softly seeks her silent mate, See the bird of Juno stooping:
Melody resigns to fate.
ON A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT.
I know the thing that 's most uncommon;
(Envy, be silent and attend !) I know a reasonable woman,
Handsome and witty, yet a friend.
Not grave through pride, nor gay through folly: An equal mixture of good-humour,
And sensible soft melancholy.
Yes, she has one, I must aver:
The woman's deaf, and does not hear.
ON HIS GROTTO AT TWICKENHAM,
TO MRS. M. B. ON TIER BIRTH-DAY.
Let joy or ease, let affluence or content,
TO MR. THOMAS SOUTHERN,
On his Birth-day, 1742.
Roast beef, though old, proclaims him stout,
TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE.*
IN beauty or wit,
No mortal as yet,
But men of discerning
Have thought that in Icarning,
With musty dull rules,
So papists refuse
The Bible to use,
'Twas a woman at first
(Indeed she was cursed) in knowledge that tasted delight,
And sages agree
That laws should decree
* This panegyric on Lady Mary Wortley Montague might have been suppressed by Mr. Pope, on account of her having satirized him in her verses to the imitator of Horace ; which abuse he returned in the first satire of the second book of Horace.
From furious Sappho, scarce a milder fate,
Then bravely, fair dame,
Resume the old claim,
And let men receive,
From a second bright Eve,
But if the first Eve,
Hard doom did receive,
What a punishment new
Shall be found out for you,
EPISTLE IV, OF BOOK I, OF HORACE'S
A modern Imitation.
* This satire on Lord Bolingbroke, and the praise be. stowed on him in a letter to Mr. Richardson, where Mr. Pope says,
The sons shall blush their fathers were his foes: being so contradictory, probably occasioned the former to be suppressed. S.
Ad Albium Tibullum.
Scribere, quod Cassi Parmensis opuscula vincat. 1 The lines here quoted occur in the Essay on Man. $ An tacitum silvas inter reptare salubres ?