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Where (emulous of Chartres' fame)
E'en Chartres' self is scarce a name.

To you (the all-envied gift of heaven)
The indulgent gods, unask'd, have given
A form complete in every part,
And, to enjoy that gift, the art.
+ What could a tender mother's care
Wish better to her favourite heir,
Than wit, and fame, and lucky hours,
A stock of health, and golden showers,
And graceful fluency of speech,
Precepts before unknown to teach?
| Amidst thy various ebbs of fear,
And gleaming hope, and black despair;
Yet let thy friend this truth impart ;
A truth I tell with bleeding heart
(In justice for your labours past,)
That every day shall be your last;
That every hour you life renew
Is to your injured country due.

In spite of tears, of mercy spite, My genius still must rail, and write. Haste to thy Twickenham's safe retreat, And mingle with the grumbling great: There, half devour'd by spleen, you 'll find The rhyming bubbler of mankind; There (objects of our mutual hate) We'll ridicule both church and state.


Di tibi formam Di iibi divitias dederunt, artemque fruendi. | Quid voveat dulci nutricula majus alumno,

Qui sapere, et fari possit quæ sentiat, et cui
Gratia, fama, valetudo contingat abunde,

non deficiente crumena ? 1 Inter spem curamque, timores inter et iras. Omnem crede diem tibi diluxisse premum. Me pinguem et nitidum bene curata cute visca, Cum ridere voles Epicuri de grege porcum. VOL. II.


EPIGRAM ON MRS. TOFTS, A handsome Woman wilh a fine Voice, but very

covetous and proud.* So bright is thy beauty, so charming thy song, As had drawn both the beasts and their Orpheus along; But such is thy avarice and such is thy pride, That the beasts must have starved, and the poet

have died.

On one who made long Epitaphs.
Friend, for your epitaphs I'm grieved;

Where still so much is said,
One half will never be believed,

The other never read.

On his painting for me the Statues of Apollo,

Venus, and Hercules.
What god, what genius, did the pencil move

When Kneller painted these ? 'Twas Friendship-warm as Phæbus, 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 Hawking, 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 introduc. tion 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. minuter school,


In the Year 1715. DEAR, damn'd distracting town, farewell!

Thy fools no more I 'll tease:
This year in peace, ye critics, dwell,

Ye harlots, sleep at ease.
Soft B*** and rough C*****, adieu !

Earl Warwick make your moan,
The lively H*****k and you

May knock up whores alone.
To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd

Till the third watchman toll;
Let Jervis gratis paint, and Frowde

Save three-pence and his soul.
Farewell Arbuthnot's raillery

On every learned sot,
And Garth, the best good christian he,

Although he knows it not.
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 rage ;

My vixen mistress squalls ;
The wits in envious feuds engage;

And Homer (damn him!) calls.
The love of arts lies cold and dead

In Halifax's urn;
And not one Muse of all he fed,


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.

Has yet

Why make I friendships with the great,

When I no favour seek?
Or follow girls seven hours in eight ?-

I need but once a week.
Still idle, with a busy air,

Deep whimsies to contrive;
The gayest valetudinaire,

Most thinking rake alive.
Solicitous for others' ends,

Though fond of dear repose;
Careless or drowsy with my friends,
And frolic with


Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell,

For sober, studious days!
And Burlington's delicious meal,

For salads, tarts, and pease!
Adieu to all but Gay alone,

Whose soul sincere and free,
Loves all mankind, but flatters none,

And so may starve with me.

A DIALOGUE. Pope. . SINCE my old friend is grown so great

As to be minister of state,
I'm told (but 'tis not true I hope)

That Craggs will be ashamed of Pope. Craggs. Alas! if I am such a creature,

To grow the worse for growing greater,
Why, faith, in spite of all my brags,
'Tis Pope must be ashamed of Craggg.
Engraved on the Collar of a Dog, which I gave to his

Royal Highness.
I am his Highness' dog at Kew;
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?

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 your



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.


What are the falling rills, the pendent shades,
The morning bowers, the evening colonnades,
But soft recesses for the uneasy mind
To sigh unheard in, to the passing wind!
So the struck deer, in some sequester'd part,
Lies down to die (the arrow in his heart;)
There hid in shades, and wasting day by day,
Inly he bleeds, and pants his soul away.

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