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Verses left by Mr. POPE, on his lying in the same Bed which WILMOT, the celebrated Earl of RoCHESTER, slept in at Adderbury, then belonging to the Duke of ARGYLE, July 9th, 1739.

WITH no poetic ardour fir'd

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

Beneath 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 such as wicked kings may mourn,
When freedom is more dear than life.

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To the Tune of " To all you Ladies now at Land," &c.


To one fair lady out of court,

And two fair ladies in,

Who think the Turk* and Popet a sport,

And wit and love no sin;

Come these soft lines, with nothing stiff in, To Bellenden, Lepell, and Griffin.


With a fa, la, la.


passes in the dark third row,
And what behind the scene,

Couches and crippled chairs I know,
And garrets hung with green;

I know the swing of sinful hack,

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Then why to courts should I repair,
Where's such ado with Townshend?
To hear each mortal stamp and swear,
And ev'ry speech with Zounds end;
To hear 'em rail at honest Sunderland,
And rashly blame the realm of Blunderland.*
With a fa, la, la.


Alas! like Schutz I cannot pun,

Like Grafton court the Germans ;
Tell Pickenbourg how slim she's grown,
Like Meadows† run to sermons;
To court ambitious men may roam,
But I and Marlbro' stay at home.
With a fa, la, la.


In truth, by what I can discern,
Of courtiers 'twixt you three,

Some wit you have, and more may learn
From court, than Gay or Me:

Perhaps, in time, you'll leave high diet,
sup with us on milk and quiet.
With a fa, la, la.


* Ireland.

+ Mentioned before in the verses to Mrs. Howe.


At Leicester-Fields, a house full high,
With door all painted green,
Where ribbons wave upon the tye,
(A Milliner I mean ;)

There may you meet us three to three,
For Gay can well make two of Me.
With a fa, la, la.


But shou'd you catch the prudish itch,
And each become a coward,
Bring sometimes with you lady Rich,
And sometimes mistress Howard;
For virgins to keep chaste must go
Abroad with such as are not so.
With a fa, la, la.


And thus, fair maids, my ballad ends;
God send the king safe landing ;*
And make all honest ladies friends
To armies that are standing;
Preserve the limits of those nations,
And take off ladies limitations.

With a fa, la, la.


*This Ballad was written anno 1717.

NOTWITHSTANDING Pope's affected contempt of the Court, he was proud of the acquaintance of some of the beautiful young women belonging to it.

The Ladies mentioned in this Ballad, Pope speaks of in a letter: "I met the Prince, with all his Ladies on horseback, coming from hunting.

"Mrs. B-(Bellenden) and Mrs. L-(Lepell) took me into protection (contrary to the law against harbouring Papists), and gave me a dinner." Bowles.

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