Alone I press; in dreams I call my dear,
I stretch my hand, no Gulliver is there!
I wake, I rise, and, shivering with the frost,
Search all the house,-my Gulliver is lost!
Forth in the street I rush with frantic cries;
The windows open, all the neighbours rise;
"Where sleeps my Gulliver? O tell me where!"
The neighbours answer, "With the Sorrel Mare."
At early morn, I to the market haste,
(Studious in everything to please thy taste ;)
A curious Fowl and Sparagrass I chose
(For I remember you were fond of those);

45

50

Three shillings cost the first, the last seven groats;
Sullen you turn from both, and call for Oats.

Others bring goods and treasure to their houses,
Something to deck their pretty babes and spouses;
My only token was a cup like horn,
That's made of nothing but a lady's corn.

55

'Tis not for that I grieve; no, 'tis to see The Groom and Sorrel Mare preferr'd to me!

These, for some moments when you deign to quit,

And (at due distance) sweet discourse admit,
'Tis all my pleasure thy past toil to know,
For pleased remembrance builds delight on woe.

At every danger pants thy consort's breast,
And gaping infants squall to hear the rest.
How did I tremble, when, by thousands bound,
I saw thee stretch'd on Lilliputian ground?
When scaling armies climb'd up every part,
Each step they trod, I felt upon my heart.
But when thy torrent quench'd the dreadful blaze,
King, queen, and nation, staring with amaze,
Full in my view how all my husband came,
And what extinguish'd theirs, increas'd my flame.
Those Spectacles, ordain'd thine eyes to save,
Were once my present; Love that armour gave.
How did I mourn at Bolgolam's decree!
For when he sign'd thy death, he sentenc'd me.
When folks might see thee all the country round
For sixpence, I'd have giv'n a thousand pound.
Lord! when the Giant-babe that head of thine
Got in his mouth, my heart was up in mine!
When in the Marrow-bone I see thee ramm'd;
Or on the house-top by the Monkey cramm'd,
The piteous images renew my pain,
And all thy dangers I weep o'er again.
But on the Maiden's Nipple when you rid,
Pray Heav'n, 'twas all a wanton maiden did!
Glumdalclitch too-with thee I mourn her case:
Heav'n guard! the gentle girl from all disgrace!
O may the king that one neglect forgive,
And pardon her the fault by which I live!

60

65

70

75

80

85

90

Was there no other way to set him free?

My life, alas! I fear proved death to thee.

O teach me, dear, new words to speak my flame!

95

Teach me to woo thee by thy best-loved name!

Whether the style of Grildrig please the most,
So call'd on Brobdingnag's stupendous coast,
When on the Monarch's ample hand you sate,
And halloo'd in his ear intrigues of state;
Or Quinbus Flestrin more endearment brings;
When like a Mountain you looked down on kings:
If ducal Nardac, Lilliputian peer,

Or Glumglum's humbler title soothe thy ear:
Nay, would kind Jove my organs so dispose,

To hymn harmonious Houyhnhnm through the nose,
I'd call thee Houyhnhnm, that high-sounding name;
Thy children's noses all should twang the same.
So might I find my loving spouse of course
Endu'd with all the Virtues of a Horse.

LINES ON SWIFT'S ANCESTORS.

[SWIFT set up a plain monument to his grandfather, and also presented a cup to the church of Goodrich, or Gotheridge (in Herefordshire). He sent a pencilled elevation of the monument (a simple tablet) to Mrs Howard, who returned it with the following lines, inscribed on the drawing by Pope. The paper is endorsed, in Swift's hand: 'Model of a monument for my grandfather, with Pope's roguery.'

Scott's Life of Swift.]

In this church he has put
A stone of two foot,
With a cup and a can, sir,
In respect to his grandsire;
So, Ireland, change thy tone,
And cry, O hone! O hone!
For England hath its own.

FROM THE GRUB-STREET JOURNAL.

[THIS Journal was established in January, 1730, and carried on for eight years by Pope and his friends, in answer to the attacks provoked by the Dunciad. It corresponds in some measure to the Xenien of Goethe and Schiller. Only such pieces are here inserted as bear Pope's distinguishing signature A.; several others are probably his.]

I.
EPIGRAM

Occasioned by seeing some sheets of Dr Bentley's edition of Milton's Paradise Lost 2.

DIR Milton's prose, O Charles, thy death defend?

A furious foe unconscious proves a friend.

1 Goodrich, or Gotheridge, in Herefordshire, where Swift had erected a monument to his grandfather, presenting a cup to the church at the same time. Scott.

[Cf. Dunciad, Bk. IV. v. 212. 'Milton's prose' is the Defensio pro populo Anglicano &c. of 1649; and the Defensio Secunda of 1654.]

On Milton's verse does Bentley comment?-Know
A weak officious friend becomes a foe.

While he but sought his Author's fame to further,
The murderous critic has aveng'd thy murder.

II.

EPIGRAM.

SHOULD D-s1 print, how once you robb'd your brother,
Traduc'd your monarch, and debauch'd your mother;

Say, what revenge on D- -s can be had;

Too dull for laughter, for reply too mad?
Of one so poor you cannot take the law;
On one so old your sword you scorn to draw.
Uncag'd then let the harmless monster rage,
Secure in dulness, madness, want, and age.

On Mr M

III.

MR J. M. S—E.3

Catechised on his One Epistle to Mr Pope.

WHAT makes you write at this odd rate?
Why, Sir, it is to imitate.

What makes you steal and trifle so?

Why, 'tis to do as others do.

But there's no meaning to be seen.

Why, that's the very thing I mean.

IV.

EPIGRAM

-re's going to law with Mr Gilliver: inscribed to
Attorney Tibbald.

ONCE in his life M- —re judges right:

His sword and pen not worth a straw,

An author that could never write,

A gentleman that dares not fight,

Has but one way to tease-by law.

This suit, dear Tibbald, kindly hatch;

Thus thou may'st help the sneaking elf;

And sure a printer is his match,
Who's but a publisher himself.

5

5

5

5

VI.

EPITAPH.

[On James Moore-Smythe.]

HERE lies what had nor birth, nor shape, nor fame;
No gentleman! no man! no-thing! no name!

For Jamie ne'er grew James; and what they call
More, shrunk to Smith-and Smith's no name at all.
Yet die thou can'st not, phantom, oddly fated:
For how can no-thing be annihilated 1?

Ex nihilo nihil fit.

VII.

A QUESTION BY ANONYMOUS.

TELL, if you can, which did the worse,
Caligula or Gr- -n's Gr-ce?

That made a Consul of a horse,

And this a Laureate of an ass.

VIII.

EPIGRAM.

GREAT G- -3, such servants since thou well can'st lack,
Oh! save the salary, and drink the sack.

IX.

EPIGRA M.

BEHOLD! ambitious of the British bays,
Cibber and Duck4 contend in rival lays.
But, gentle Colley, should thy verse prevail,
Thou hast no fence, alas! against his flail:
Therefore thy claim resign, allow his right:
For Duck can thresh, you know, as well as write.

5

ON SEEING THE LADIES AT CRUX-EASTON WALK IN THE WOODS BY THE GROTTO.

EXTEMPORE BY MR POPE.

UTHORS the world and their dull brains have traced

AU

To fix the ground where Paradise was placed;

Mind not their learned whims and idle talk;

Here, here's the place where these bright angels walk.

[Cf. Dunciad, Bk. II. v. 50.]

2 [The Duke of Grafton.]

[Stephen Duck, originally a thresher, concerning whom there are other verses in the

3 [King George II. The epigram is of course Journal, probably written by Pope. Cf. Imi

on the Laureate Cibber.]

tations of Horace, Bk. 11. Ep. II. v. 140.]

INSCRIPTION ON A GROTTO, THE WORK OF NINE LADIES.

[Carruthers, from Dodsley's Miscellany.]

idleness once and

This radiant pile nine rural sisters raise;
The glittering emblem of each spotless dame,
Clear as her soul and shining as her frame;
Beauty which nature only can impart,

And such a polish as disgraces art;

But Fate disposed them in this humble sort,
And hid in deserts what would charm a Court.

VERSES LEFT BY MR POPE,

5

ON HIS LYING IN THE SAME BED WHICH WILMOT, THE CELEBRATED EARL OF ROCHESTER, SLEPT IN AT ADDERBURY, THEN BELONGING to the duke of argyle', JULY 9TH, 1739.

TO THE RIGHT HON. THE EARL OF OXFORD,

5

10

UPON A PIECE OF NEWS IN MIST [MIST'S JOURNAL], THAT the rev. mr w. refus'd to write

AGAINST MR POPE BECAUSE HIS BEST PATRON HAD A FRIENDSHIP FOR THE SAID P.

[FROM Nichols's Literary Anecdotes, where it is given in facsimile; accompanied by the statement that 'W.' alluded to was Samuel Wesley, and Father Francis,' the then exiled Bishop of Rochester (Atterbury).]

1 [As to the Duke of Argyle, cf. Epilogue to Satires, Dial. 11. v. 82.]

5