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MUSE, 'tis enough; at length thy labour ends, And thou shalt live-for Buckingham commends.
Let crowds of critics now my verfe affail,
To Mr. POPE.
DEPEND not upon verse for fame,
Tho' none can equal thine:
Our language never refts the fame; 'Twill rife, or 'twill decline.
Thy wreaths, in courfe of fleeting hours,
But ftory lafts, tho' modern flow'rs
A furer way then wouldst thou find
Whilst there remains amongst mankind
By Lord HERVEY. POSSESS'D of one great hall for state, Without one room to fleep or eat: How well you build, let flatt'ry tell, And all mankind how ill you dwell.
Written in a Window of the Tower, over the Name of R. Walpole, confined in the fame Room, Ann. Dem. 1712. LANSDOWNE.
GOOD unexpected, evil unforeseen,
Appears by turns, as Fortune shifts the scene: And fall fo hard, they bound and rife again. Some rais'd aloft come tumbling down amain;
Each rifing agony, each dreadful grace,
Such wondrous force the magic colours boast,
On the Death of a Lady's Cat.
HARRISON. ND is Mifs Tabby from the world retir'd? A And are her lives, all her nine lives, expir'd? What founds fo moving, as her own, can tell How Tabby died, how full of play the fell? Begin, ye tuneful nine, a mournful strife, And ev'ry mufe thall celebrate a life.
A Receipt for Courtship. TWO or three dears, and two or three fweets; Two or three balls, and two or three treats; Two or three ferenades, given as a lure; Two or three oaths how much they endure; Two or three metfages fent in one day; Two or three times led out from the play; Two or three foft fpeeches made by the way; Two or three tickets for two or three times; Two or three love-letters writ all in rhymes: Two or three months keeping ftrict to thefe rules Can never fail making a couple of fools.
By Lady M. W. MONTAGUE.
WHILST thirst of praife and vain defire of fame,
To Mr. Addifon, on bis Tragedy of Cato. THE mind to virtue is by verfe fubdued, And the true poet is a public good. This Britain feels; while, by your lines infpir'd, Her free-born fons to glorious thoughts are fir'd. In Rome had you efpous'd the vanquifh'd caufe, Inflam'd her fenate, and upheld her laws, Your manly fcenes had liberty reftor'd, And given the just fuccels to Cate's fword.
By Dr. KENRICK. THE great, good man, whom Fortune will dife place,
May into fcarceness fall, but not disgrace.
They lofe their height, but keep their reverence;
A Flower by Varelft. WHEN fam'd Varelft this little wonder drew, Flora vouchfaf'd the growing work to view. Finding the painter's science at a stand, The Goddefs fnatch'd the pencil from his hand Behold one work of mine that ne'er shall fade. And finishing the piece, the fmiling faid:
By Sir SAM. GARTH. CAN you count the filver lights
That deck the skics, and cheer the nights; Or the leaves that strew the vales, When groves are stript by winter gales; Or the drops that in the morn Hang with tranfparent pearl the thorn; Or bridegroom's joys, or mifer's cares, Or gamefter's oaths, or hermit's prayers; Or envy's pangs, or love's alarms, Or Marlbro's acts, or Molly's charms?
By AARON HILL.
Silently strong, and its deep bottom hides.
The Royal Knotter. Sir CH. SEDLEY, AH, happy people! ye muft thrive,
While thus the royal pair does ftrive Both to advance your glory; While he by 's valour conquers France, She manufactures does advance,
And makes thread-fringes for ye. Bleft we! who from fuch queens are freed, Who, by vain fuperftition led,
Are always telling beads:
But here's a queen now, thanks to God,
Let all thy trumpets found:
The fringe which this campaign has wrought,
NOT to be captious, not unjustly fight;
Verfes occafioned by Mr. Aikman's Death.
AS thofe we love decay, we die in part,
String after ftring is fever'd from the heart; Till loofen'd life, at laft but breathing clay, Without one pang is glad to fall away.
ACK his own merit fees. This gives him pride, Unhappy he who latest feels the blow,
That he fees more than all the world befide.
Dean Swift's Curate.
MARCH'D three miles thro' fcorching fand,
I rode four more to great St. Mary;
I preach'd three congregations deaf,
While thund'ring out with lungs long-winded,
I chopt fo faft, that few there minded.
My emblem, the laborious fun,
Saw all thefe mighty labours done,
Before one race of his was run:
Whole eyes have wept o'er ev'ry friend laid low,
To the Reverend Mr. Murdoch, Reftor of Strad
Epigram by Dr. DODDRIDGE, on bis Motto, Both gifts deftructive to the givers prove,
Alike both lovers fall by thofe they love:
She views the ftory with attentive eyes,
ONE day in Chelsea meadows walking,
Your fimile, I own, is new;
And point it at the end.
By Mrs. PILKINGTON.
All can difcern a face that's fair,
To rule o'er barren fands.
Each day that makes thy charms decrease Will give to Stella morc.
To Mr. Pope, on his Dunciad. THE raven, rook, and pert jackdaw,
Tho' neither birds of moral kind, Yet ferve, if hang'd, or stuff'd with straw, To fhew us which way blows the wind. Thus dirty knaves, or chatt'ring fools,
Strung up by dozens in thy lay, Teach more by half than Dennis' rules, And point inftruction ev'ry way. With Egypt's art thy pen may ftrive, One potent drop let this but fhed, And ev'ry rogue that stunk alive Becomes a precious mummy dead.
TREASON does never profper: what's the reafon ? Why, when it profpers, none dare call it treason.
CURIO's rich fideboard feldom fees the light,
Clean is his kitchen, and his fpits are bright; His knives and forks, all rang'd in even rows, No hand molefts, no fervants discompose: A curious jack, hung up to please the eye, For ever ftill, whofe flyers-never fly :