Wide o'er the aërial vault extend thy sway,
And o'er the infernal regions void of day.
On thy third reign look down; disclose our fate,
In what new station shall we fix our seat?
When shall we next thy hallow'd altars raise,
And choirs of virgins celebrate thy praise ?
WHEN wise Ulysses, from his native coast
Long kept by wars, and long by tempests toss'd,
Arriv'd at last, poor, old, disguis'd, alone,
To all his friends and ev'n his Queen unknown;
Chang'd as he was, with age, and toils, and cares,
Furrow'd his rev'rend face, and white his hairs,
In his own palace forc'd to ask his bread,
Scorn'd by those slaves his former bounty fed,
Forgot of all his own domestic crew:
The faithful dog alone his rightful master knew!
Unfed, unhous'd, neglected, on the clay,
Like an old servant, now cashier'd, he lay;
Touch'd with resentment of ungrateful man,
And longing to behold his ancient Lord again.
Him when he saw-he rose, and crawl'd to meet,
('Twas all he could) and fawn'd, and kiss'd his feet,
Seiz'd with dumb joy-then falling by his side,
Own'd his returning lord, look'd up, and died!
1 The lines were sent in a letter to Cromwell, dated Oct. 19, 1711.
TO THE AUTHOR OF A POEM ENTITLED
"SUCCESSIO.'"
BEGONE, ye critics, and restrain your spite,
Codrus writes on, and will for ever write.
The heaviest Muse the swiftest course has gone,
As clocks run fastest when most lead is on;
What tho' no bees around your cradle flew,
Nor on your lips distill'd their golden dew;
Yet have we oft discover'd in their stead
A swarm of drones that buzz'd about your head.
When you, like Orpheus, strike the warbling lyre,
Attentive blocks stand round you and admire.
Wit pass'd through thee no longer is the same,
As meat digested takes a diff'rent name;
But sense must sure thy safest plunder be,
Since no reprisals can be made on thee.
Thus thou may'st rise, and in thy daring flight
(Though ne'er so weighty) reach a wondrous height.
So, forced from engines, lead itself can fly,
And pond'rous slugs move nimbly through the sky.
Sure Bavius copied Mævius to the full,
And Chærilus taught Codrus to be dull;
Therefore, dear friend, at my advice give o'er
This needless labour; and contend no more
To prove a dull succession to be true,
Since 'tis enough we find it so in you.
1 First published in Lintot's Miscellany of 1712. The authorship is avowed in the note to v. 181 of the Dunciad, i. ver. 17, 18, are repeated
in the Dunciad. The author of "Successio" was Elkanah Settle. It was written against the Jacobites.
LINES SUNG BY DURASTANTI WHEN SHE TOOK LEAVE OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.'
THE WORDS WERE IN HASTE PUT TOGETHER BY MR. POPE, AT THE
REQUEST OF THE EARL OF PETERBOROUGH.
GEN'ROUS, gay, and gallant nation,
Bold in arms, and bright in arts;
Land secure from all invasion,
All but Cupid's gentle darts!
From your charms, oh who would run?
Who would leave you for the sun?
Happy soil, adieu, adieu !
Let old charmers yield to new;
In arms, in arts, be still more shining;
All your joys be still increasing;
All your tastes be still refining;
All your jars for ever ceasing:
But let old charmers yield to new.
Happy soil, adieu, adieu !
OCCASIONED BY READING THE TRAVELS OF CAPTAIN LEMUEL GULLIVER.'
TO QUINBUS FLESTRIN, THE MAN-MOUNTAIN.
AN ODE BY TILLY-TIT, POET LAUREATE TO HIS MAJESTY OF LILLIPUT. Translated into English.
1 First published in Warburton's Edition, 1751. Margarita Durastanti was brought to England by Handel in 1719, the same year as Senesino.
She left the country in 1723, Sir John Hawkins says because she dreaded the rivalry of Cuzzoni.
2 The following pieces, with the
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 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.
and an heroic epistle to Mr. GulliThe 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." They are certainly very poor productions.
Turn'd aside,
From his hide,
Safe from wound,
Darts rebound.
From his nose
Clouds he blows:
When he speaks,
Thunder breaks!
When he eats,
Famine threats!
When he drinks,
Neptune shrinks!
Nigh thy ear,
In mid air,
On thy hand
Let me stand;
So shall I,
Lofty poet, touch the sky.
THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDALCLITCH FOR THE LOSS OF GRILDRIG.
SOON as Glumdalclitch miss'd her pleasing care,
She wept, she blubber'd, and she tore her hair.
No British miss sincerer grief has known,
Her squirrel missing, or her sparrow flown.
She furl'd her sampler, and haul'd in her thread,
And stuck her needle into Grildrig's bed;
Then spread her hands, and with a bounce let fall
Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall.
In peals of thunder now she roars, and now
She gently whimpers like a lowing cow:
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