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* To you (th' all-envy'd gift of Heaven)
+ What could a tender mother's care
Amidst thy various ebbs of fear,
In fpight of fears, of mercy fpight,
Di tibi formam
Di tibi divitias dederant, artemque fruendi.
Quid voveat dulci nutricula majus alumno,
------ non deficiente crumena?
Inter fpem, curamque, timores inter et iras.
Hafte to thy Twickenham's fafe retreat,
EPIGRAM ON MRS. TOFT S.
A HANDSOME WOMAN WITH A FINE VOICE, BUT VERY COVETOUS AND PROUD*.
O bright is thy beauty, so charming thy fong,
As had drawn both the beafts and their Orpheus
But fuch is thy avarice, and fuch is thy pride,
On one who made LONG EPITAPHS†.
REIND, for your Epitaphs I 'm griev'd,
One half will never be believ'd,
The other never read.
This epigram, first printed anonymously in Steele's Collection, and copied in the Mifcellanies of Swift and Pope, is fcribed to Pope by Sir John Hawkins in his History of MuficMrs. Tofts, who was the daughter of a person in the family of Bishop Burnet, is celebrated as a finger little inferior, either for She lived at her voice or manner, to the best Italian women. the introduction of the opera into this kingdom, and sung in company with Nicolini; but, being ignorant of Italian, chanted her recitative in English, in answer to his Italian; yet the charms of their voices overcame the abfurdity.
+ It is not generally known that the perfon here meant was Dr. Robert Freind, Head Mafter of Westminster School
TO SIR GODFREY KNELLER,
ON HIS PAINTING FOR ME THE STATUES OF APOLLO, VENUS, AND HERCULES.
'HAT God, what Genius did the pencil move When Kneller painted these?
"Twas Friendship-warm as Phœbus, kind as Love, And strong as Hercules.
A FAREWELL TO LONDON IN THE YEAR 1715.
EAR, damn'd, distracting town, farewell!
Soft B-- and rough C ---, adieu!:
To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd
Farewell Arbuthnot's raillery
And Garth, the best good christian he,
Lintot, farewell! thy bard muft go; -
Heaven gives thee, for thy lofs of Rowe,
Why fhould I stay? Both parties rage;
And not one Muse of all he fed,
My friends, by turns, my friends confound,
Poor Yr's fold for fifty pound,
And B Il is a jade.
Why make I friendships with the great,
Or follow girls feven hours in eight?-
Still idle, with a bufy air,
Deep whimfies to contrive; The gayeft valetudinaire,
Moft thinking rake alive.
Solicitous for others ends,
Though fond of dear repofe; Careless or drowsy with my friends,
And frolick with my foes.