We foon fhall find him full of spleen,
For want of tattling to the queen ;
Stunning her royal ears with talking;
His reverence and her highness walking:
While lady Charlotte *, like a stroller,
Sits mounted on the garden-roller.
A goodly fight to fee her ride
With ancient Mirmont † at her fide.
In velvet cap his head lies warm;
His hat for fhow beneath his arm,]
Some South-Sea broker from the city
Will purchase me, the more's the pity;
Lay all my fine plantations waste,
To fit them to his vulgar tafte;
Chang'd for the worse in every part,
My mafter Pope will break his heart.
RICHMOND-LODGE.
In my own Thames may I be drownded,
If e'er I ftoop beneath a crown'd-head:
Except her majefty prevails
To place me with the prince of Wales
And then I fhall be free from fears,
For he'll be prince these fifty years.
I then will turn a courtier too,
And serve the times, as others do.
Plain loyalty, not built on hope,
I leave to your contriver, Pope;
• Lady Charlotte de Rouffy, a French lady.
Marquis de Mirmont, a French man of quality.
None loves his king and country better,
Yet none was ever lefs their debtor.
Then let him come and take a nap
In fummer on my verdant lap:
Prefer our villas, where the Thames is,
To Kenfington, or hot St. James's;
Nor fhall I dull in filence fit;
For 'tis to me he owes his wit;
My groves, my echoes, and my birds,
Have taught him his poetic words.
We gardens, and you wildernesses,
Affift all poets in diftreffes.
Him twice a week I here expect,
To rattle Moody * for neglect;
An idle rogue, who spends his quartridge
In tippling at the Dog and Partridge;
And I can hardly get him down
Three times a week to brush my gown,
RICHMOND-LODGE,
I pity you, dear Marble-hill; But hope to fee you flourish ftill. All happiness-and fo adieu.
Kind Richmond-lodge, the fame to you.
'TIS ftrange, what different thoughts inspire In men, Poffeffion, and Defire!
Think what they wish fo great a bleffing;
So difappointed when poffeffing!
A moralift profoundly fage
(I know not in what book or page,
Or whether o'er a pot of ale)
Related thus the following tale.
Poffeffion, and Defire his brother,
But ftill at variance with each other,
Were feen contending in a race;
And kept at firft an equal pace:
"Tis faid, their course continued long;
For this was active, that was strong:
Till Envy, Slander, Sloth, and Doubt,
Mifled them many a league about.
Seduc'd by fome deceiving light,
They take the wrong way for the right;
Through flippery by-roads dark and deep,
They often climb, and often creep,
Defire, the swifter of the two,
Along the plain like lightning flew :
Till, entering on a broad high-way,
Where power and titles fcatter'd lay,
He ftrove to pick up all he found,
And by excurfions loft his ground:
No fooner got, than with difdain
He threw them on the ground again;
And hafted forward to pursue
Fresh objects fairer to his view;
In hope to spring some nobler game ;
But all he took was just the fame:
Too fcornful now to ftop his pace,
He spurn'd them in his rival's face.
Poffeffion kept the beaten road,
And gather'd all his brother ftrow'd;
But overcharg'd, and out of wind,
Though ftrong in limbs, he lagg'd behind,
Defire had now the goal in fight:
It was a tower of monftrous height;
Where on the fummit Fortune stands,
A crown and fceptre in her hands;
Beneath a chafm as deep as hell,
Where many a bold adventurer fell.
Defire in rapture gaz'd a while,
And faw the treacherous goddess smile ;
But, as he climb'd to grasp the crown,
She knock'd him with the fceptre down!
He tumbled in the gulph profound;
There doom'd to whirl an endless round.
Poffeffion's load was grown fo great,
He funk beneath the cumberous weight:
And, as he now expiring lay,
Flocks ominous bird of prey;
The raven, vulture, owl, and kite,
At once upon his carcafe light,
And ftrip his hide, and pick his bones,
Regardless of his dying groans.
ON CENSURE.
YE wife, inftruct me to endure
An evil, which admits no cure;
Or, how this evil can be borne,
Which breeds at once both hate and fcorn,
Bare innocence is no support,
When you are try'd in Scandal's court,
Stand high in honour, wealth, or wit:
All others, who inferior fit,
Conceive themselves in confcience bound
To join, and drag you to the ground.
Your altitude offends the eyes
Of those who want the power to rife,
The world, a willing stander-by,
Inclines to aid a fpecious lie:
Alas! they would not do you wrong;
But all appearances are strong!
Yet whence proceeds this weight we lay
On what detracting people say?
For let mankind discharge their tongues
In
venom, till they burst their lungs,
Their utmoft malice cannot make
Your head, or tooth, or finger ake;
Nor fpoil your fhape, diftort your face,
Or put one feature out of place;
find your fortune fink
By what they speak or what they think ;
Nor can ten hundred thousand lies
Make you lefs virtuous, learn'd, or wife,
The most effectual way to baulk
Their malice, is-to let them talk.
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