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Get all your verses printed fair,
Then let them well be dried ; And Curl-must have a special care
To leave the margin wide.
Lend these to paper-sparing Pope';
And when he sits to write, No letter with an envelope
Could give him more delight.
When Pope has fill’d the margins 'round, Why then recall
your Sell them to Curl for fifty pound,
And swear they are your own.
HE sage, who said he should be proud
Of windows in his breast, Because he ne'er one thought allow’d
That might not be confeft;
* A blank cover.
His window scrawld by ev'ry rake,
His breast again would cover; And fairly bid the devil take
The diamond and the lover.
AN O T H E R.
Your mistress in a glass to show,
In this the devil and you agree: None e'er made verses worse than he,
And thine I swear are such.
Α Ν Ο Τ Η Ε R.
And the devil's a damnable poet.
Are very near a-kin;
RICHMOND-Lodge and Marble-Hill.
Written June 1727, just after the news of the
late king's death, to which time this note must
ICHMOND-LODGE is a house with
a small part belonging to the crown : it was usually granted by the crown for a lease of years ; the duke of Ormond was the last who had it. After his exile, it was given to the prince of Wales by the king. The prince and princess usually passed their summer there. It is within a mile of Richmond.
MARBLE-HILL isa house built by Mrs. Howard, then of the bed-chamber, now countess of Suffolk, and groom of the stole to the queen. It is on the Middlesex 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 bouses met, and bad the following dialogue..
* N spight of Pope, in spight of Gay,
And all that he or they can say ;
Last Friday night, as neighbours use, This couple met to talk of news: For by old proverbs it appears, That walls have tongues, and hedgcs ears.
MARBL E-HILL. Quoth Marble-hill, 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 find it soon by woeful proof, She'll come no more beneath your roof.
RICHMOND-LODGE. The kingly prophet well evinces That we should put no trust in princes : My royal master promis'd me To raise me to a high degree; But now he's grown a king, God wot, I fear I shall be soon forgot. You see, 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.
My house was built but for a show, My lady's empty pockets know; And now she will not have a shilling To raise the stairs, or build the cieling; For all the courtly madams round Now
pay four shillings 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 :