For those we dext'rous courtiers call,
Can rife upon their mafters' fall.
But we, unlucky and unwife,
Must fall because our mafters rise.
RICHMOND-LODGE.
My mafter, 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 fteal my artichokes no more; Poor Patty Blount no more be feen 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 fpunge 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 faid,
No butter flicks upon his dread.
We foon fhall 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 ftroller,
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-fea broker from the city Will purchase me, the more's the pity; Lay all my fine plantations wafte To fit them to his vulgar taste; Chang'd for the worfe in ev'ry 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 :
Lady Charlotte de Rouffy,
a French lady.
+ Marquis de Mirmont, a French man of quality.
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 ferve 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 lefs their debtor.
MARBLE-HILL.
Then let him come and take a nap
In fummer on my verdant lap:
Prefer our villa's, where the Thames is,
To Kenfington, or hot St. James's ;
Nor fhall I dull in filence 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 wilderneffes,
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 tipling 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-bill;
But hope to see you flourish ftill.
MARBLE-HILL.
Kind Richmond-lodge, the fame to you.
Written in the Year 1727.
IS ftrange, what diff'rent 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 first an equal pace:
'Tis faid, their courfe continued long;
For this was active, that was ftrong:
Till envy, flander, floth, and doubt,
Misled them many a league about.
Seduc'd by fome 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 fcatter'd lay,
He ftrove to pick up all he found,
And by excursions loft his ground:
No fooner got, than with difdain
He threw them on the ground again;
And hafted forward to purfue
Fresh objects fairer to his view;
In hope to fpring fome nobler game;
But all he took was juft the fame :
Too fcornful now to ftop his pace,
He fpurn'd them in his rival's face.
Poffeffion kept the beaten road;
And gather'd all his brother ftrow'd;
VOL. VII.
|