VIII. On feeing VERSES written upon

THE

at IN NS.

WINDOWS

HE fage, who said he should be proud
Of windows in his breaft,

Because he ne'er a thought allow'd
That might not be confeft;

His window fcrawl'd by every rake,
His breaft again would cover;
And fairly bid the devil take
The diamond and the lover.

IX. ÁNO THE R.

BY Satan taught, all conjurers know

Your mistress in a glass to show,

And you can do as much:

In this the devil and you agree:

None e'er made verfes worse than he,

And thine I fwear are fuch.

TH

X. ANOTHER.

HAT love is the devil, I'll prove when requir'd;
Those rhymers abundantly show it:

They fwear that they all by love are infpir'd,
And the devil's a damnable poet.

TO JANUS, ON NEW YEAR'S DAY.

WO-fac'd Janus, god of Time!

TW

Be my Phoebus while I rhime;
To oblige your crony Swift,
Bring our dame a new-year's gift:
She has got but half a face;
Janus, fince thou hast a brace,
To my lady once be kind;
Give her half thy face behind.

God of Time, if you be wise,
Look not with your future eyes;
What imports thy forward fight?
Well, if you could lofe it quite.
Can you take delight in viewing
This poor
* Ifle's approaching ruin,
When thy retrospection vast
Sees the glorious ages paft?
Happy nation, were we blind,
Or had only eyes behind!

Drown your morals, madam cries,
I'll have none but forward eyes;

Prudes decay'd about

may tack,

Strain their necks with looking back.
Give me Time when coming on:
Who regards him when he's gone ?
By the Dean though gravely told,
New years help to make me old;

* Ireland.

Yet

Yet I find a new year's lace
Burnishes an old year's face:
Give me velvet and quadrille,
I'll have youth and beauty ftill.

A PASTORAL DIALOGUE Written after the News of the King's death.

of

RICHMOND-LODGE is a house with a small park belonging to the Crown. It was usually granted by the Crown for a lease years. The Duke of Ormond was the laft who had it. After his exile, it was given to the Prince of Wales by the King. The Prince and Princess usually paffed their summer there. It is within a mile of Richmond.

MARBLE-HILL is a house built by Mrs. Howard, then of the

bed-chamber, now countefs of Suffolk, and groom of the ftole to the Queen. It is on the Middlesex fide, near Twickenham, where Mr. Pope lived, and about two miles from Richmond-lodge. Mr. Pope was the contriver of the gardens, Lord Herbert the architect, the Dean of St. Patrick's chief butler and keeper of the Ice-house. Upon King George's death, these two houfes met, and had the following Dialogue.

IN fpite of Pope, in spite of Gay,
And all that he or they can fay;
Sing on I must, and fing I will

Of Richmond-lodge and Marble-hill,

George I. who died after a fhort ficknefs by eating a melon, at Ofnaburg, in his way to Hanover, June 11, 1727.-The poem was carried to court, and read to king George II. and queen Caroline.

Laft Friday night, as neighbours use, This couple met to talk of news!

For, by old proverbs it appears,

That walls have tongues, and hedges ears,

MARBLE-HILL.

Quoth Marble-hill, right well I ween, Your mistress now is grown a queen: You'll find it foon by woeful proof; She'll come no more beneath your roof,

RICHMOND-LODGE.

The kingly prophet well evinces, That we should put no truft in princes: My royal mafter promis'd me

To raise me to a high degree;

But now he's grown a king, God wot,
I fear I fhall be foon forgot.

You fee, when folks have got their ends,
How quickly they neglect their friends;
Yet I may fay, 'twixt me and you,
Pray God, they now may find as true!

MARBLE-HILL.

My house was built but for a fhow,
My lady's empty pockets know;

And now fhe will not have a fhilling,
To raise the stairs, or build the ceiling;
For all the courtly madams round
Now pay four fhillings in the pound:
"Tis come to what I always thought;
My dame is hardly worth a groat.

!

Had

Had you and I been courtiers born,
We should not thus have lain forlorn :
For those we dextrous courtiers call,
Can rife upon their masters' fall.
But we, unlucky and unwise,
Muft fall because our mafters rise.

RICHMOND-LODGE.

My master, scarce a fortnight fince,
Was grown as wealthy as a prince;
But now it will be no fuch thing,
For he'll be poor as any king ;
And by his crown will nothing get,
But like a king to run in debt.

MARBLE-HILL.

No more the Dean, that grave divine,
Shall keep the key of my no-wine;
My ice-house rob, as heretofore,
And steal my artichokes no more ;
Poor Patty Blount no more be seen

Bedraggled in my walks fo green:
Plump Johnny Gay will now elope;
And here no more will dangle Pope.

RICHMOND-LODGE.

Here wont the Dean, when he's to feek,
To spunge a breakfast once a week;

Το
cry the bread was ftale, and mutter
Complaints against the royal butter,
But now I fear it will be faid,
No butter sticks upon his bread,