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.
Atria longa patent; sed nec cœnantibus usquam
Nec somno locus est: quàm bene non habitas!
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 contrived 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.
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 9, 1739.
WITH no poetic ardour fired,
I press the bed where Wilmot lay;
That here he loved, or here expired,
Begets no numbers, grave or gay
Beneath thy roof, Argyle, are bred,
Such thoughts as prompt the brave to lie
Stretch'd out in honour's nobler bed,
Beneath a nobler roof-the sky.
Such flames as high in patriots burn
Yet stoop to bless a child or wife;
And such as wicked kings may mourn,
When freedom is more dear than life.
To the tune of "To all you ladies now at land," &c.
To one fair lady out of court,
And two fair ladies in,
Who think the Turk and Pope a sport,
And wit and love no sin:
Come, these soft lines, with nothing stiff in, To Bellenden, Lepell, and Griffin.
What passes in the dark third row,
And what behind the scene,
Couches and crippled chairs I know,
And garrets hung with green;
I know the swing of sinful hack,
Where many damsels cry alack.
With a fa, la, la.
Then why to courts should I repair,
Where's such ado with Townshend?
To hear each mortal stamp and swear,
And every speech with zounds end;
To hear 'em rail at honest Sunderland,
And rashly blame the realm of Blunderland.*
With a fa, la, la.
Alas! like Schutz I cannot pun,
Like Grafton court the Germans;
Tell Pickenbourg how slim she's grown,
Like Meadows run to sermons;
To court ambitious men may roam,
But I and Marlbro' stay at home.
With a fa, la, la.
In truth, by what I can discern,
Of courtiers, 'twixt you three,
Some wit you have, and more may learn
From court, than Gay or me:
Perhaps, in time, you'll leave high diet,
To sup with us on milk and quiet.
With a fa, la, la.
At Leicester-Fields, a house full high,
With door all painted green,
Where ribbons wave upon the tie
(A milliner I mean;)
There may you meet us three to three,
For Gay can well make two of me.
With a fa, la, la.
And thus, fair maids, my ballad ends:
God send the king safe landing;
And make all honest ladies friends
To armies that are standing;
Preserve the limits of those nations,
And take off ladies' limitations.
With a fa, la, la.
THE THREE GENTLE SHEPHERDS.
Or gentle Philips will I ever sing,
With gentle Philips shall the valleys ring;
My numbers too for ever will I vary,
With gentle Budgell, and with gentle Carey.
Or if in ranging of the names I judge ill,
With gentle Carey, and with gentle Budgell:
Oh! may all gentle bards together place ye,
Men of good hearts, and men of delicacy.
May satire ne'er befool ye or beknave ye,
And from all wits that have a knack, он save ye.
IN THE NAME OF MRS BUTLER'S SPIRIT, LATELY DECEASED.
STRIPP'D to the naked soul, escaped from clay,
From doubts unfetter'd, and dissolved in day;
Unwarm'd by vanity, unreach'd by strife,
And all my hopes and fears thrown off with life;
Why am I charm'd by friendship's fond essays,
And though unbodied, conscious of thy praise;
Has pride a portion in the parted soul?
Does passion still the firmless mind control?
Can gratitude out-pant the silent breath?
Or a friend's sorrow pierce the gloom of death?
No-'tis a spirit's nobler task of bliss;
That feels the worth it left, in proofs like this;
That not its own applause, but thine approves,
Whose practice praises, and whose virtue loves;
Who liv'st to crown departed friends with fame;
Then dying, late, shalt all thou gav'st reclaim.
O WRETCHED B-! jealous now of all,
What god, what mortal, shall prevent thy fall?
Turn, turn thy eyes from wicked men in place,
And see what succour from the patriot race.
C- his own proud dupe, thinks monarchs things
Made just for him, as other fools for kings;
Controls, decides, insults thee every hour,
And antidates the hatred due to power.
Through clouds of passion P-
He foams a patriot to subside a peer;
Impatient sees his country bought and sold,
CONDEMNS the market where he takes no gold.
Grave, righteous S jogs on, till, past belief, He finds himself companion with a thief.
To purge and let thee blood, with fire and sword, Is all the help stern S- would afford.
That those who bind and rob thee, would not kill, Good Chopes, and candidly sits still. who speaks at all,
No more than of Sir Harry or Sir Paul?
Whose names once up, they thought it was not wrong To lie in bed, but sure they lay too long.
G- -r, C- -m, B- -t, pay thee due regards, Unless the ladies bid them mind their cards.
And C- -d, who speaks so well, and writes,
Whom (saving W.) every S. harper bites.
equally provoke one, Finds thee, at best, the butt to crack his joke on. As for the rest, each winter up they run, And all are clear, that something must be done. Then urged by C- -t, or by C- -t stopp'd, and by P- dropp'd;
They follow reverently each wondrous wight,
Amazed that one can read, that one can write :
So geese to gander prone obedience keep,
Hiss if he hiss, and if he slumber, sleep.
Till having done whate'er was fit or fine,
Utter'd a speech, and ask'd their friends to dine;
Each hurries back to his paternal ground,
Content but for five shillings in the pound;
Yearly defeated, yearly hopes they give,
And all agree, Sir Robert cannot live.
Rise, rise great W, fated to appear,
Spite of thyself, a glorious minister !
Speak the loud language princes
And treat with half the
Though still he travels on no bad pretence,
To shew
Or those foul copies of thy face and tongue,
Veracious W- and frontless Young;
Sagacious Bub, so late a friend, and there
So late a foe, yet more sagacious H-?
Hervey and Hervey's school, F-
Yea, moral Ebor, or religious Winton.
How! what can O- w, what can D
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