Imatges de pÓgina

For those we dext'rous courtiers call,
Can rise upon their masters' fall.
But we, unlucky and unwise,
Must fall because our masters rise.


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


No more the dean, that grave divine, Shall keep the key of my no

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 seek,, To spunge a breakfast once a week;


To cry the bread was stale, and mutter
Complaints against the royal butter.
But now I fear it will be said,
No butter sticks upon his dread.
We soon shall find him full of spleen,
For want of tattling to the queen;
Stunning her royal ears with talking ;
His rev’rence and her highness walking:
Whilft * lady Charlotte, like a stroller,
Sits mounted on the garden roller.
A goodly fight to see her ride
With ancient + Mirinont at her side.
In velvet cap his head lies warm;
His hat for show 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 taste ;
Chang’d for the worse in ev'ry part,
My master Pope will break his heart.

In my own Thames


I be drownded, If e'er I stoop beneath a crown'd head :

Lady Charlotte de Rously, + Marquis de Mirmont, a a French lady.

French man of quality.

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Except her majesty prevails
To place me with the prince of Wales;
And then I shall 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 :
None loves his king and country better,
Yet none was ever less their debtor.


Then let him come and take a nap In summer on my verdant lap: Prefer our villa's, where the Thames is, To Kensington, or hot St. James's ; Nor shall I dull in silence fit; For 'tis to me owes his wit ; My groves, my echoes, and my birds Have taught him his poetic words. We gardens, and you wildernesses, Assist all poets in distresses. Him twice a week I here expect, To rattle * Moody for neglect ; An idle rogue, who spends his quartridge In tipling at the Dog and partridge ; *. The gardener.


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 see you flourish still. All happiness

and fo adieu.


Kind Richmond-lodge, the same to you.


Written in the Year 1727.

IS strange, what diff'rent thoughts

In men, Podljion and Desire !
Think what they wilh fo great a blessing;
So disappointed when possessing !

A moralist profoundly fage,
I know not in what book or page,
Or whether o’er a pot of ale,
Related thus the following tale.

Possession and Defire, his brother,
But still at variance with each other,


Were seen contending in a race;
And kept at first an equal pace:
'Tis faid, their course continued long;
For this was active, that was strong:
Till envy, slander, sloth, and doubt,
Milled them mariy a league about.
Seduc'd by some deceiving light,
They take the wrong way for the right;
Through flipp’ry 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 scatter'd lay,
He strove to pick up all he found,
And by excursions lost his ground:
No sooner got, than with disdain
He threw them on the ground again ;
And hasted forward to pursue
Fresh objects fairer to his view;
In hope to spring fome nobler game;
But all he took was just the same:
Too scornful now to stop his pace,
He spurn'd them in his rival's face.

Posesion kept the beaten road;
And gather'd all his brother strow'd;
Vol. VII.



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