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Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell,
Whofe foul, fincere and free,
INCE my old friend is
Alas! if I am fuch a creature,
Engraved on the Collar of a Dog, which I gave to his Royal Highness.
AM his Highness' dog at Kew;
Pray tell me, Sir, whose dog are you?
EPIGR A M.
Occafioned by an Invitation to Court.
'N the lines that you fent, are the Muses and Graces;
and the Three your
ON AN OLD GATE
Gate, how cam'ft thou here?
Gate. I was brought from Chelsea last year,
Inigo Jones put me together.
Sir Hans Sloane
Let me alone:
Burlington brought me hither.
7HAT are the falling rills, the pendant shades, The morning bowers, the evening colonnades, But foft receffes for th' uneafy mind
To figh unheard in, to the paffing wind!
VERSES left by Mr. POPE, on his lying in the fame Bed which WILMOT the celebrated Earl of Rochester flept in, at Adderbury, then belonging to the Duke of Argyle, July 9th, 1739.
ITH no poetic ardour fir'd
I prefs 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,
Yet stoop to bless a child or wife; And fuch as wicked kings may mourn, When freedom is more dear than life.
VERSES то M.R. C.
S T. JAMES'S PLACE.
LONDON, OCTOBER 22.
EW words are beit; I wish you well;
The falling leaf and coming froft,
Your friend, your poet, and your hoft; For three whole days you here may rest,
From office, bufinefs, news, and ftrife; And (what moft folks would think a jeft) Want nothing elfe, except your wife.
"His faltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani "Munere!"
On CHARLES Earl of DORSET,
In the Church of Withyam in Suffex.
ORSET, the Grace of Courts, the Mufes' Pride,
Where other BUCKHURSTS, Other DORSETS fhine,