But cries as soon, 'Dear Dick, I must be gone,
For, if I know his tread, here's Addison.'
Says Addison to Steele, ''Tis time to go :'
Pope to the closet steps aside with Rowe.
Poor Umbra, left in this abandon'd pickle,
E'en sits him down, and writes to honest Tickell.
Fool! 'tis in vain from wit to wit to roam;
Know, sense, like charity, 'begins at home.'
SYLVIA my heart in wondrous wise alarm'd,
Awed without sense, and without beauty charm'd =
But some odd graces and some flights she had,
Was just not ugly, and was just not mad:
Her tongue still ran on credit from her eyes,
More pert than witty, more a wit than wise :
Good-nature, she declared it, was her scorn,
Though 'twas by that alone she could be borne :
Affronting all, yet fond of a good name;
A fool to pleasure, yet a slave to fame :
Now coy, and studious in no point to fall,
Now all agog for D- -y at a ball:
Now deep in Taylor, and the Book of Martyrs,
Now drinking citron with his Grace and Chartres..
Men, some to business, some to pleasure take;
But every woman's in her soul a rake.
Frail, feverish sex; their fit now chills, now burns ::
Atheism and superstition rule by turns;
And a mere heathen in the carnal part,
Is still a sad good Christian at her heart.
IMPROMPTU TO LADY WINCHELSEA.
OCCASIONED BY FOUR SATIRICAL VERSES ON WOMEN WITS, " IN THE RAPE OF THE LOCK.'
In vain you boast poetic names of yore,
IN
And cite those Sapphos we admire no more:
Fate doom'd the fall of every female wit;
But doom'd it then, when first Ardelia writ.
Of all examples by the world confess'd,
I knew Ardelia could not quote the best ;
Who, like her mistress on Britannia's throne,
Fights and subdues in quarrels not her own.
To write their praise you but in vain essay;
E'en while you write, you take that praise away:
Light to the stars the sun does thus restore,
But shines himself till they are seen no morc.
A BISHOP, by his neighbours hated,
Has cause to wish himself translated:
But why should Hough desire translation,
Loved and esteem'd by all the nation?
Yet, if it be the old man's case,
I'll lay my life I know the place:
"Tis where God sent some that adore Him,
And whither Enoch went before him.
EPIGRAM ON THE FEUDS ABOUT HANDEL AND BONONCINI.
STRANGE! all this difference should be
"Twixt Tweedle-dum and Tweedle-dee!
A CELEBRATED OPERA SINGER.
So bright is thy beauty, so charming thy song,
As had drawn both the beasts and their Orpheus along:
But such is thy av'rice, and such is thy pride,
That the beasts must have starved, and the poet have died.
Now Europe balanced, neither side prevails;
For nothing's left in either of the scales.
EPITAPH ON LORD CONINGSBY.
HERE lies Lord Coningsby-be civil!
The rest God knows-perhaps the Devil.
You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come;
Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.
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
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.
1 WHENCE deathless Kit-cat' took its name,
Few critics can unriddle :
Some say from 'pastrycook' it came,
And some, from 'cat' and 'fiddle.'
2 From no trim beaux its name it boasts,
Gray statesmen, or green wits;
But from this pell-mell 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.
ON THE COUNTESS OF BURLINGTON
CUTTING PAPER.
1 PALLAS grew vap'rish 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.
2 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.
3 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.
4 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.
5 Alas! one bad example shown,
How quickly all the sex pursue!
See, madam, see the arts o'erthrown
Between John Overton and you!
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