VIII. On feeing VERSES written upon THE at IN NS. WINDOWS HE fage, who said he should be proud Because he ne'er a thought allow'd His window fcrawl'd by every rake, IX. ÁNO THE R. 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 X. ANOTHER. HAT love is the devil, I'll prove when requir'd; They fwear that they all by love are infpir'd, TO JANUS, ON NEW YEAR'S DAY. WO-fac'd Janus, god of Time! TW Be my Phoebus while I rhime; God of Time, if you be wise, Drown your morals, madam cries, Prudes decay'd about may tack, Strain their necks with looking back. * Ireland. Yet Yet I find a new year's lace A PASTORAL DIALOGUE Written after the News of the King's death. of RICHMOND-LODGE is a house with a small park belonging to the Crown. It was usually granted by the Crown for a lease 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 Princess usually paffed their summer there. It is within a mile of Richmond. MARBLE-HILL is a house 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 Middlesex fide, near Twickenham, where Mr. Pope lived, and about two miles from Richmond-lodge. Mr. Pope was the contriver of the gardens, Lord Herbert the architect, the Dean of St. Patrick's chief butler and keeper of the Ice-house. Upon King George's death, these two houfes met, and had the following Dialogue. IN fpite of Pope, in spite of Gay, Of Richmond-lodge and Marble-hill, George I. who died after a fhort ficknefs by eating a melon, at Ofnaburg, in his way to Hanover, June 11, 1727.-The poem was carried to court, and read to king George II. and queen Caroline. Laft Friday night, as neighbours use, This couple met to talk of news! For, by old proverbs it appears, That walls have tongues, and hedges ears, MARBLE-HILL. Quoth Marble-hill, right well I ween, Your mistress now is grown a queen: 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 should put no truft in princes: My royal mafter promis'd me To raise 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 house was built but for a fhow, And now fhe will not have a fhilling, ! Had Had you and I been courtiers born, RICHMOND-LODGE. My master, scarce a fortnight fince, MARBLE-HILL. No more the Dean, that grave divine, Bedraggled in my walks fo green: RICHMOND-LODGE. Here wont the Dean, when he's to feek, Το |