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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 warp'd by passion, awed by rumour,

Not grave through pride, nor gay through folly: An equal mixture of good-humour,

And sensible soft melancholy.
*Has she no faults, then,' Envy says, 'sir ?'

Yes, she has one, I must aver:
When all the world conspires to praise her,

The woman's deaf, and does not hear.

ON HIS GROTTO AT TWICKENHAM,
Composed of Marble, Spars, Gems, Ores, and

Minerals.
Thou who shalt drop,where Thames translucent wave
Shines a broad mirror through the shadowy cave;
Where lingering drops from mineral roofs distil,
And pointed crystals break the sparkling rill,
Unpolish'd gems no ray on pride bestow,
And latent metals innocently glow :
Approach. Great Nature studiously behold!
And eye the mine, without a wish for gold.
Approach; but awful! lo! the Ægerian grot,
Where, nobly pensive, St. John sat and thought ;
Where British siglis from dying Wyndham stole,
And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont's
Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor, (soul.
Who dare to love their country, and the poor.

TO MRS. M. B. ON TIER BIRTH-DAY.
Oh, be thou bless'd with all that Heaven can send,
Long health, long youth, long pleasure, and a friend!
Not with those toys the female world admire,
Riches that vex, and vanities that tire.
With added years, if life bring nothing new,
But like a sieve let every blessing through,
Some joy still lost, as each vain year runs o'er,
And all we gain, some sad reflection more;
Is that a birth day? 'tis, alas! too clear,
'Tis but the funeral of the former year.

Let joy or ease, let affluence or content,
And the gay conscience of a life well spent,
Calm every thought, inspirit every grace,
Glow in thy heart, and smile upon thy face.
Let day improve on day, and year on year,
Without a pain, a trouble, or a fear;
Till death unfelt that tender frame destroy,
In some soft dream, or ecstacy of joy.
Peaceful sleep out the sabbath of the tomb,
And wake to raptures in a life to come.

TO MR. THOMAS SOUTHERN,

On his Birth-day, 1742.
Resign'd to live, prepared to die,
With not one sin but poetry,
This day Tom's fair account has run
(Without a blot) to eighty-one.
Kind Boyle, before his poet, lays
A table, with a cloth of bays;
And Ireland, mother of swect singers,
Presents her harp still to his fingers.
The seast, his towering genius marks
In yonder wild-goose and the larks !
The mushrooms show his wit was sudden!
And for his judgment, lo! a pudden!

Roast beef, though old, proclaims him stout,
And grace, although a bard, devout.
May Tom, whom heaven sent down to raise
'The price of prologues and of plays,
Be every birth-day more a winner,
Digest his thirty thousandth dinner;
Walk to his grave without reproach,
And scorn a rascal and a coach.

TO LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE.*

IN beauty or wit,

No mortal as yet,
To question your empire has dared

But men of discerning

Have thought that in Icarning,
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 cursed) in knowledge that tasted delight,

And sages agree

That laws should decree
To the first of possessors the right.

* 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,
P--'d by her love, or libell'd by hier hate.

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!

EPISTLE IV, OF BOOK I, OF HORACE'S

EPISTLES.*

A modern Imitation.
Say, St. John, who alone peruse
With candid eye, the mimic muse,
What schemes of politics, or laws,
In Gallic lands the patriot draws !
Is then a greater work in hand,
Than all the tomes of Haines's band ?
*Or shoots he folly as it flies?
Or catches manners as they rise ?'I
Or, urged by unquench'd native heat,
Does St. John Greenwich sports repeat ?

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* 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.
Albi, nostrorum sermonum, candide judex,
Quid nunc te dicam facere in regione Pedana ?

Scribere, quod Cassi Parmensis opuscula vincat. 1 The lines here quoted occur in the Essay on Man. $ An tacitum silvas inter reptare salubres ?

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