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.

POPE.

CRAGGS.

A DIALOGUE.

SIN

grown

INCE my old friend is
As to be minifter of state,
I'm told (but 'tis not true I hope)
That Craggs will be afham'd of Pope.

I

fo greats

Alas! if I am fuch a creature,
To grow the worse for growing greater;
Why faith, in fpite 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.

AM his Highness' dog at Kew;

Pray tell me, Sir, whose dog are you?

EPIGRAM

EPIGR A M.

Occafioned by an Invitation to Court.

'N the lines that you fent, are the Muses and Graces;

and the Three your

faces.

ON AN OLD GATE

ERECTED

IN CHISWICK

Gate, how cam'ft thou here?

Gate. I was brought from Chelsea last year,
Batter'd with wind and weather.

GARDENS.

Inigo Jones put me together.

Sir Hans Sloane

Let me alone:

Burlington brought me hither.

1742.

A FRAGMENT.

WHA

7HAT are the falling rills, the pendant shades, 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.

VERSES left by Mr. POPE, on his lying in the fame Bed which WILMOT the celebrated Earl of Rochester flept in, at Adderbury, then belonging to the Duke of Argyle, July 9th, 1739.

WITH

ITH no poetic ardour fir'd

I prefs the bed where Wilmot lay;
That here he lov'd, or here expir'd,
Begets no numbers grave, or gay.

But in thy roof, Argyle, are bred

Such thoughts as prompt the brave to lie Stretch'd out in honour's nobler bed, Beneath a nobler roof-the sky.

Such flames as high in patriots burn,

Yet stoop to bless a child or wife; And fuch as wicked kings may mourn, When freedom is more dear than life.

VERSES

VERSES то M.R. C.

S T. JAMES'S PLACE.

LONDON, OCTOBER 22.

F

EW words are beit; I wish you well;
Bethel, I'm told, will foon be here:
Some morning-walks along the Mall,
And evening friends, will end the year.
If, in this interval, between

The falling leaf and coming froft,
You please to fee, on Twit'nam green,

Your friend, your poet, and your hoft; For three whole days you here may rest,

From office, bufinefs, news, and ftrife; And (what moft folks would think a jeft) Want nothing elfe, except your wife.

EPITAPHS.

EPITAPHS.

"His faltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani "Munere!"

VIRG.

I.

On CHARLES Earl of DORSET,

In the Church of Withyam in Suffex.

D

ORSET, the Grace of Courts, the Mufes' Pride,
Patron of Arts, and judge of Nature, dy'd.
The fcourge of Pride, though fanctified or great,
Of Fops in Learning, and of Knaves in State:
Yet foft his Nature, though fevere his Lay,
His Anger moral, and his Wisdom gay.
Bleft Satirift! who touch'd the Mean fo true,
As fhow'd, Vice had his hate and pity too.
Bleft Courtier! who could King and Country please,
Yet facred keep his Friendships, and his eafe.
Bleft Peer! his great Forefathers every grace
Reflecting, and reflected in his Race;

Where other BUCKHURSTS, Other DORSETS fhine,
And Patrons still, or Poets, deck the Line.

VOL. XLVI.

Bb

II. On