Get all your verses printed fair, Lend thefe to paper-sparing Pope; When Pope has fill'd the margins round, And fwear they are your own. On feeing verfes written upon Windows TH in Inns. Written in the Year 1726. I. HE fage, who faid he should be proud Because he ne'er one thought allow'd *A blank cover. His window fcrawl'd by ev'ry rake, II. ANOTHER. 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 III. 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. IV. A NO IV. ANOTHER. THE church and clergy here, no doubt, Are very near a-kin; Both weather-beaten are without; A PASTORAL DIALOGUE BETWEEN RICHMOND-LODGE and MARBLE-HILL. Written June 1727, just after the news of the late king's death, to which time this note must alfo be referred. RI ICHMOND-LODGE is a house with Small part belonging to the crown: it was ufually granted by the crown for a leafe of 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 princefs ufually passed their fummer there. It is within a mile of Richmond. MARBLE MARBLE-HILL is a boufe 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 Middlefex fide, near Twickenham, where Mr. Pope lives, and about two miles from Richmond-lodge. Mr. Pope was the contriver of the gardens, lord Herbert the architect, and the dean of St. Patrick's chief butler, and keeper of the icehouse. Upon king George's death, these two boufes met, and bad the following dialogue.. *IN fpight of Pope, in fpight of Gay, Laft Friday night, as neighbours ufe, This couple met to talk of news: For by old proverbs it appears, That walls have tongues, and hedgcs ears. MARBLE-HILL. Quoth Marble-bill, right well I ween, Your mistress now is grown a queen; * This poem was carried to court, and read to the king and queen. You'll 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 fhould put no truft in princes: My royal mafter promis'd me To raife me to a high degree; But now he's grown a king, God wot, You fee, when folks have got their ends, MARBLE-HILL. My houfe was built but for a fhow, My lady's empty pockets know; And now the will not have a fhilling To raise the stairs, or build the cieling; 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 you and I been courtiers born, We should not thus have lain forlorn: For |