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Why should I stay? Both parties rage;
The love of arts lies cold and dead
And not one muse of all he fed,
My friends, by turns, my friends confound,
Why make I friendships with the great,
Or follow girls seven hours in eight?---
Still idle, with a busy air,
Solicitous for others' ends,
Luxurious lobster-nights, farewel,
Adieu to all but Gay alone,
Whose soul sincere and free,
Pope. SINCE my old friend is grown 30 great,
As to be minister of state,
I'm told (but 'tis not true I hope)
That Craggs will be asham'd of Pope.
Craggs. Alas! if I am such a creature,
To grow the worse for growing greater;
Engraved on the Collar of a Dog, which I gave to his Royal Highness.
IAM his Highness' dog at Kew;
Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?
Occasioned by an Invitation to Court.
N the lines that you sent are the muses and
You've the nine in your wit, and the three in your
ON AN OLD GATE,
Erected in Chiswick Gardens.
GATE, how cam'st thou here?
Gate. I was brought from Chelsea last year,
Sir Hans Sloane
Let me alone:
Burlington brought me hither.
are the falling rills, the pendent shades, The morning bowers, the evening colonades,
But soft recesses for th' uneasy mind
To sigh unheard in, to the passing wind!
VERSES LEFT BY MR. POPE,
On his lying in the same Bed which Wilmot the celebrated Earl of Rochester slept in, at Adder. bury, then belonging to the Duke of Argyle. July 9th, 1739.
WITH no poetic ardour fir'd
I press'd the bed where Wilmot lay;
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,
VERSES TO MR. C.
St. James's Place, London, October 22.
words are best; I wish you well;
If, in this interval, between
The falling leaf and coming frost, You please to see, on Twit'nam green, Your friend, your poet, and your host; For three whole days you here may rest,
From office, business, news, and strife; And (what most folks would think a jest) Want nothing else, except your wife.
His saltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani
ON CHARLES EARL OF DORSET,
In the Church of Withyam, in Sussex.
ORSET, the grace of courts, the muses' pride,
Blest courtier ! who could king and country please,
Where other Buckhursts, other Dorsets shine,