EPIGRAM.

You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come : Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.

EPIGRAM FROM THE FRENCH.

PRIOR.

SIR, I admit your general rule,
That every poet is a fool:

But you yourself may serve to show it,
That every fool is not a poet.

ЕРІТАРН.

WELL then, poor G— lies under ground!

So there's an end of honest Jack.

So little justice here he found,

'Tis ten to one he'll ne'er come back.

EPIGRAM.

ON THE TOASTS OF THE KIT-CAT CLUB, ANNO 1716.*

WHENCE deathless KIT-CAT took its name,

Few critics can unriddle :

Some say from PASTRYCOOK it came,
And some, from CAT and FIDDLE.

From no trim beaux its name it boasts,
Gray statesmen, or green wits;
But from this pellmell pack of toasts
Of old CATS and young KITS.

TO A LADY,

WITH THE TEMPLE OF FAME.

WHAT'S fame with men, by custom of the nation,
Is call'd, in women, only reputation :

About them both why keep we such a pother?
Part you with one, and I'll renounce the other.

* The Kit-cat Club, which was the point of convivial union among the friends of the Hanoverian succession, was sometimes said to have derived its name from Christopher Kat, a pastry-cook, remarkable for the excellence of his twopenny pies. Others supposed it was from a cat and fiddle, the sign of the tavern. But the epigrammatist, with no very pregnant humour, derives it from their toasts, upon each of whom they wrote verses, which were engraved upon the glasses consecrated to the health proposed. Sir W. Scott.

ON THE COUNTESS OF BURLINGTON
CUTTING PAPER.

PALLAS grew vapourish once and odd;
She would not do the least right thing,
Either for goddess or for god,

Nor work, nor play, nor paint, nor sing.

Jove frown'd, and "Use (he cried) those eyes
"So skilful, and those hands so taper;
Do something exquisite and wise-"
She bow'd, obey'd him, and cut paper.

This vexing him who gave her birth,
Thought by all Heaven a burning shame ;
What does she next, but bids, on earth,
Her Burlington do just the same.

Pallas, you give yourself strange airs;
But sure you'll find it hard to spoil
The sense and taste of one, that bears
The name of Saville and of Boyle.

Alas! one bad example shown,

How quickly all the sex pursue! See, madam, see the arts o'erthrown Between John Overton and you!

POEMS

ON READING THE TRAVELS OF CAPTAIN LEMUEL

GULLIVER.

[ON the publication of Gulliver's Travels, Pope wrote several pieces of humour, intended to accompany the work, which he sent to Swift; and in a letter some time afterwards, dated 8th March, 1726-7, he says: "You received, I hope, some commendatory verses from a Horse and a Lilliputian to Gulliver, and an heroic Epistle of Mrs. Gulliver. The bookseller would fain have printed them before the second edition of the book; but I would not permit it without your approbation; nor do I much like them.”—It is probable, however, that Swift sent them to the press, as they were printed in the same year (1727,) at Dublin, by and for John Hyde, bookseller in Dame-street, in a small duodecimo of sixteen pages, under the title of Poems occasioned by reading the Travels of Captain Lemuel Gulliver, explanatory and commendatory; from which edition they are here given.]

TO QUINBUS FLESTRIN,

THE MAN-MOUNTAIN.

AN ODE BY TITTY TIT, POET LAUREATE TO HIS MAJESTY

OF LILLIPUT.

TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH.

amaze

IN
Lost I gaze!

Can our eyes

Reach thy size!

May my lays
Swell with praise,
Worthy thee!

Worthy me!

Muse, inspire
All thy fire!
Bards of old

Of him told,

When they said

Atlas' head

Propp'd the skies :

See! and believe your eyes!
See him stride

Valleys wide,

Over woods,

Over floods!

When he treads,

Mountains' heads

Groan and shake:

Armies quake;

Lest his spurn

Overturn

Man and steed:

Troops, take heed!

Left and right,

Speed your flight!

Lest an host

Beneath his foot be lost!

Turn'd aside

From his hide

Safe from wound,

Darts rebound.

From his nose

Clouds he blows: