IN SOM NU M. OMNE levis! quanquam certiffima mortis imago, Alma quies, optata veni! nam fic fine vita A The above Lines to Sleep, imitated in ENGLISH. H! gentle fleep, though on thy form imprefs'd Come, wifh'd for reft! then all my cares relieve, E. G. On a GENTLEMAN's faying he would dance with none but fair LADIES. Spoken extempore by two Young LADIES. YMON does vow, nay he does fwear,' SYM He'll dance with none but what are fair; Suppofe we women fhou'd difpenfe Our hands to none but men of sense; Suppofe, well madam,-and what then? Why, Sir, you'd never dance again. Why do you draw me thus afide ?" "If I pull this way, you pull back; Thus in a nation parties view, But should they leagues of friendship strike, The following Lines were fung by DURASTANTI, when he took her Leave of the English Stage. The Words were in hafte put together by Mr. Po PE, at the earnest Request of the Earl of PETERBOROW. G ENEROUS, gay, and gallant nation, Bold in arms, and bright in arts; Land fecure from all invafion, All but Cupid's gentle darts! From your charms, oh who would run ? Happy foil, adieu, adieu! In arms, in arts, be ftill more fhining; All your joys be ftill increafing; All your taftes be ftill refining; All your jars for ever ceafing: But let old charmers yield to new: A Burlesque of the above Lines, by Dr. ARBUTH NOT. PUP UPPIES, whom I now am leaving, Happy foil, and fimple crew! A FARE. A FAREWELL to LONDON in the Year 1714. By Mr. POPE. (Never published in his Works.) EAR, damn'd, diftra&ting town, farewell! Thy fools no more I'll teaze : This year in peace, ye critics, dwell, Ye harlots, fleep at ease! Soft B and rough C's, adieu! The lively H-k and you May knock up w -s alone. To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd Farewell Arbuthnot's raillery And Garth, the best good Christian he, Lintot, farewell! thy bard muft go; Heaven gives thee, for thy lofs of Rowe, Why should I ftay? Both parties rage; 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, Poor Yr's fold for fifty pound, And B11 is a jade. Why make I friendships with the great, Or follow girls seven hours in eight,- Still idle, with a bufy air, Moft thinking rake alive. Solicitous for others ends, Laborious lobster-nights, farewell! Adieu to all but Gay alone, Whose foul, fincere and free, There, tafting all the bloom of spring, A TRANSLATION of LATIN VERSES. From the ARABIC. Y boy, the glaffes hither bring, ΜΥ Prefent the balmy treasure; The wine is like to ruddy Sol; What though, in beauty's tranfient hour, Heed not fortune's fcornful frown; How sweet the genial flush of drink! On aught befides our mellow treasure. Caithness. MUSEUS. CHORUS |