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EPIGRAM ON MRS.

TOFTS.

A HANDSOME WOMAN WITH A FINE VOICE, BUT VERY COVETOUS AND PROUD*.

O bright is thy beauty, fo charming thy fong,

As had drawn both the beafts and their Orpheus

along;

But fuch is thy avarice, and fuch is thy pride,
That the beasts must have starv'd, and the poet have died.

EPIGR AM

On one who made LONG EPITAPHST.

REIND, for your Epitaphs I 'm griev'd,

FR

Where ftill fo much is faid;

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 Mufic— Mrs. 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 fung 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.

WHAT

HAT God, what Genius did the pencil move
When Kneller painted these?

"Twas Friendship-warm as Phoebus, kind as Love, And strong as Hercules.

A FAREWELL TO LONDON

D

IN THE YEAR 1715.

EAR, damn'd, distracting town, farewell!
Thy fools no more I'll teaze:

This year in peace, ye critics, dwell,
Ye harlots, fleep at ease!

Soft Band rough C---, adieu ! :
Earl Warwick make your moan,

The lively H----k and you

May knock up whores alone.

To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd
Till the third watchman toll;

Let Jervais gratis paint, and Frowde
Save three-pence and his foul.

Farewell Arbuthnot's raillery
On every learned fot;

And Garth, the best good christian he,
. Although he knows it not.

Lintot,

Lintot, farewell! thy bard muft go; -
Farewell, unhappy Tonfon!

Heaven gives thee, for thy lofs of Rowe,
Lean Philips, and fat Johnson.

Why should I stay? Both parties rage;
My vixen mistress fqualls;

The wits in envious feuds engage;
And Homer (damn him!) calls.

The love of arts lies cold and dead
In Halifax's urn;

And not one Muse of all he fed,
Has yet the grace to mourn.

My friends, by turns, my friends confound,
Betray, and are betray'd:
Poor Yr's fold for fifty pound,
And B - - - - 11 is a jade.

Why make I friendships with the great,

When I no favour feek?

Or follow girls feven hours in eight ?-
I need but once a week.

Still idle, with a busy air,
Deep whimfies to contrive;

The gayeft valetudinaire,
Moft thinking rake alive.

Solicitous for others ends,

Though fond of dear repose;

Careless or drowsy with my friends,
And frolick with my foes.

Luxurious

Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell,
For fober, ftudious days!
And Burlington's delicious meal,
For fallads, tarts, and pease!

Adieu to all but Gay alone,

Whofe foul, fincere and free, Loves all mankind, but flatters none, And fo may starve with me.

РОРЕ.

A DIALOGUE.

INCE my old friend is

SIN

grown

fo greats

As to be minifter of state,
I'm told (but 'tis not true I hope)
That Craggs will be asham'd of Pope.

CRAGGS. Alas! if I am fuch a creature,

To grow the worse for growing greater;
Why faith, in spite of all my brags,
'Tis Pope must be asham'd of Craggs.

EPIGRAM.

Engraved on the Collar of a Dog, which I gave to his Royal Highness.

I

AM his Highness' dog at Kew;

Pray tell me, Sir, whose dog are you ?

EPIGRAM

IN

[blocks in formation]

Occafioned by an Invitation to Court.

'N the lines that you fent, are the Mufes and Graces; You've the Nine in your wit, and the Three in your .faces.

ON AN OLD GATE

ERECTED

IN

CHISWICK

Gate, how cam'ft thou here?

GARDENS.

Gate. I was brought from Chelsea laft year,

Batter'd with wind and weather.

Inigo Jones put me together.

Sir Hans Sloane

Let me alone:

Burlington brought me hither.

1742.

A FRAGMENT.

7HAT are the falling rills, the pendant shades,

WHAT

The morning bowers, the evening colonnades,

But foft receffes for th' uneafy mind

To figh unheard in, to the paffing wind!
So the ftruck deer, in fome fequefter'd part,
Lies down to die (the arrow in his heart);
There hid in fhades, and wafting day by day,
Inly he bleeds, and pants his foul away.

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