IV.

Then bravely, fair dame,
Resume the old claim,

Which to your whole sex does belong;
And let men receive,

From a second bright Eve,

The knowledge of right and of wrong.

V.

But if the first Eve

Hard doom did receive,

When only one apple had she,

What a punishment new

Shall be found out for you,

Who tasting, have robbed the whole tree?

EXTEMPORANEOUS LINES, ON THE PICTURE OF LADY MARY W. MONTAGÚ,

BY KNELLER.

Bowles, from Dallaway's Life of Lady M. W. M.
THE playful smiles around the dimpled mouth,
That happy air of majesty and truth;

So would I draw (but oh! 'tis vain to try,
My narrow genius does the power deny;)
The equal lustre of the heavenly mind,
Where every grace with every virtue's joined;
Learning not vain, and wisdom not severe,
With greatness easy, and with wit sincere;
With just description show the work divine,
And the whole princess in my work should shine.

IMITATION OF TIBULLUS.

HERE, stopped by hasty death, Alexis lies,
Who crossed half Europe, led by Wortley's eyes.

EPITAPHS ON JOHN HUGHES AND SARAH DREW.

Pope, in a letter to Lady M. W. Montagu, Sept. 1st, 1718, relates the anecdote of the death of two lovers "as constant as ever were found in romance," by name John Hewet and Sarah Drew, who were simultaneously struck by lightning at a harvest-home.

WHEN eastern lovers feed the funeral fire,
On the same pile the faithful fair expire :
Here pitying heaven that virtue mutual found,
And blasted both, that it might neither wound.
Hearts so sincere the Almighty saw well pleased,
Sent his own lightning, and the victims seized.

1.

Think not, by rigorous judgment seized,
A pair so faithful could expire;
Victims so pure heaven saw well pleased,
And snatch them in celestial fire.

II.

Live well, and fear no sudden fate;

When God calls virtue to the grave,

Alike 'tis justice, soon or late,

Mercy alike to kill or save.

Virtue unmoved can, hear the call,

And face the flash that melts the ball.

ON THE COUNTESS OF BURLINGTON CUTTING

PAPER.

PALLAS grew vapourish 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.

Jove frowned, and, "Use," he cried, "those eyes
So skilful, and those hands so taper;

ΙΟ

Do something exquisite and wise "-
She bowed, obeyed him,-and cut paper.
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.

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.
Alas! one bad example shown;

How quickly all the sex pursue!
See, madam, see the arts o'erthrown,
Between John Overton and you!

ON A PICTURE OF QUEEN CAROLINE,

DRAWN BY LADY BURLINGTON.

PEACE, flattering Bishop! lying Dean!
This portrait only paints the Queen!

THE LOOKING-GLASS.

ON MRS. PULTENEY.'

WITH Scornful mien, and various toss of air,
Fantastic, vain, and insolently fair,

Grandeur intoxicates her giddy brain,

She looks ambition, and she moves disdain.
Far other carriage graced her virgin life,
But charming Gumley's lost in Pulteney's wife.
Not greater arrogance in him we find,

And this conjunction swells at least her mind:

ΙΟ

20

1 Anna Maria Gumley, daughter of John Gumley of Isleworth, who had gained his fortune by a glass manufactory.

O could the sire, renowned in glass, produce
One faithful mirror for his daughter's use!
Wherein she might her haughty errors trace,
And by reflection learn to mend her face:
The wonted sweetness to her form, restore,
Be what she was, and charm mankind once more!
ON CERTAIN LADIES.

WHEN other fair ones to the shades go down,
Still Chloe, Flavia, Delia, stay in town:
Those ghosts of beauty wandering here reside,
And haunt the places where their honour died.

CELIA.

CELIA, we know, is sixty-five,
Yet Celia's face is seventeen;

Thus winter in her breast must live,
While summer in her face is seen.

How cruel Celia's fate, who hence
Our heart's devotion cannot try;

Too pretty for our reverence,

Too ancient for our gallantry!

EPIGRAM

ENGRAVED ON THE COLLAR OF A DOG WHICH I GAVE TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS.

I AM his Highness' dog at Kew;

Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you?

ΙΟ

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.

GENEROUS, 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 !

ON HIS GROTTO AT TWICKENHAM,

COMPOSED OF MARBLES, SPARS, GEMS, ORES, AND MINERALS.

THOU who shalt stop, where Thames' translucent wave
Shines a broad mirror' through the shadowy cave;
Where lingering drops from mineral roofs distill,
And pointed crystals break the sparkling rill,
Unpolished gems no ray on pride bestow,
And latent metals innocently glow:

Approach! Great Nature studiously behold;
And eye the mine without a wish for gold.
Approach; but awful! Lo! the Egerian grot,

Where, nobly-pensive, St. John sate and thought; ΙΟ
Where British sighs from dying Wyndham stole,

And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont's
soul.

Let such, such only tread this sacred floor,

Who dare to love their country, and be poor.

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