Dr. Wynter to Dr. Cheyney, on his Books in TELL me from whom, fat-headed Scot, Suppose we own that milk is good, The other for an ass. Doctor! one new prescription try; Eat My system, doctor, is my own, Dr. Cheyney to Dr. Wynter. To the Lord Chancellor King; alluding to his Were you to milk and straw confin'd, Motto, "Labor ipse voluptas!" "Tis not the splendor of the place, Written in a Lady's Milton. PRIOR. WITH Virtue strong as yours had Eve been arm'd, [charm'd In vain the fruit had blush'd, or serpent Nor had our bliss by penitence been boughtNor had frail Adam fell, nor Milton wrote. From Greek. DEMOCRITUS, dear droll! revisit earth, A Character of an old Rake. Thrice happy might you be; I can't your kind prescription try, 'Tis natural you should bid me die, A Smart Repartee. SWIFT. That there is none in heav'n? She quick returns the jest: On Glover's Leonidas being compared to Virgil. On a bad Translation. For sure I am that murder will come out. To a bad Fiddler. OLD Orpheus play'd so well, he mov'd Old Nick; a Cock, at Blenheim. HAD Marlb'rough's troops in Gaul no better SCORN'D by the wise, detested by the good, On Sir John Vanbrugh's Device of a Lion and Nor understanding aught, nor understood; Profane, obscene, loud, frivolous, and pert; Proud without spirit, vain without desert; Affecting passions vice has long subdued; Desp'rately gay, and impotently lewd; And, as thy weak companions round thee sit, For eminence in folly deem'd a wit. fought, Than Van, to grace his fame, in niarble wrought, On the Bridge at Blenheim. THE lofty arch his high ambition shows, The stream an emblem of his bounty flows. To a Lady. A. HILL. IF fix'd on yours my eyes in prayers you see, You must not call my zeal idolatry; For since our Maker's throne is placed so high, That only in his works the God we spy, And what's most bright most gives him to our view, I look most near him when I look on you. The Antidote. WHEN Lesbia first I saw, so heavenly fair, With eyes so bright, and with that awful air; I thought my heart, which durst so high aspire, As bold as his who snatch'd celestial fire. But, soon as e'er the beauteous idiot spoke, Forth from her coral lips such folly broke, Like balm the trickling nonsense heal'd my wound, And what her eyes enthrall'd, her tongue unbound. The Female Prattler. FROM morn to night, from day to day, If your own health or ours you prize; But, if they listen, they are cur'd. Your silence would acquire more praise Than all you say, or all you write: One look ten thousand charms displays; Then hush! and be an angel quite. The Avaro. THUS to the master of a house, Which, like a church, would starve a mouse; Which never guest had entertain'd, Nor meat nor wine its floors had stain'd, I said: "Well, Sir, 'tis vastly neat ; But where d' you drink, and where d' you eat? If one may judge by rooms so fine, It costs you more in mops than wine. Effectual Malice. Of all the pens which my poor rhymes molest, Cotin's the sharpest, and succeeds the best; Others outrageous scold, and rail downright With serious rancor, and true Christian spite; But he, more sly, pursues his fell design; Writes scoundrel verses, and then says they're mine. Against Life. From the Greek of Posidippus. WHAT tranquil road, unvex'd by strife, For Life. From the Greek of Metrodorus. MANKIND may rove, unvex'd by strife, Through ev'ry road of human life. Fair wisdom regulates the bar, And peace concludes the wordy war: At home auspicious mortals find Serene tranquillity of mind: All-beauteous nature decks the plain; And merchants plough for gold the main : Respect arises from our store; Security from being poor: More joys the bands of Hymen give; Th' unmarried with more freedom live: If parents, our blest lot we own; Childless, we have no cause to moan: Firm vigor crowns our youthful stage; And venerable hairs old age. Since all is good, then who would cry, I'd never live, or quickly die? The Revenge of America. WARTON. WHEN Cortez' furious legions flew O'er ravaged fields of rich Peru, Struck with his bleeding people's woes, Old India's awful Genius rose: He sat on Andes' topmost stone, And heard a thousand nations groan; For grief his feathery crown he tore, To see huge Plato foam with gore; He broke his arrows, stamp'd the ground, To view his cities smoking round. What woes, he cried, hath lust of gold O'er my poor country widely roll'd! Plund'rers, proceed! my bowels tear : But ye shall meet destruction there. From the deep-vaulted mine shall rise Th' insatiate fiend, pale Avarice; Whose steps shall trembling Justice fly, Peace, Order, Law, and Amity! I see all Europe's children curst With lucre's universal thirst; The rage that sweeps my sons away, My baneful gold shall well repay. Approach, but awful!-Lo! the Egerian grot, Where, nobly pensive, St.John sat and thought; Where British sighs from dying Wyndham stole, And the bright flame was shot thro' Marchmont's soul. Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor, Who dare to love their country, and be poor. A prudent Choice. WHEN Loveless married Lady Jenny, Whose beauty was the ready penny: I chose her, says he, like old plate, Not for the fashion, but the weight. On a great House adorned with Statues. THE walls are thick, the servants thin; The gods without, the dev'l within. * Author of a paper called Pasquin, reflecting on Mr. Pope, &c. THY reliques, Rowe! to this sad shrine we trust, [bust. And near thy Shakspeare place thy honour'd On a Gentleman who expended his Fortune in O! next him, skill'd to draw the tender tear, Horse-Racing. JOHN ran so long, and ran so fast, No wonder he ran out at last; He ran in debt; and then to pay, He distanc'd all-and ran away. On the Collar of a Dog presented by Mr.Pope to the Prince of Wales, I AM his Highness' dog at Kew; Pray tell me, Sir, whose dog are you? From the Greek. A BLOOMING youth lies buried here; Euphemius, to his country dear: Nature adorn'd his mind and face With ev'ry muse and ev'ry grace: Prepar'd the marriage state to prove, But Death had quicker wings than Love. On Sophocles. WIND, gentle evergreen, to form a shade Around the tomb where Sophocles is laid: Sweet ivy, wind thy boughs, and intertwine With blushing roses and the clust'ring vine: Thus will thy lasting leaves, with beauties hung, Prove grateful emblems of the lays he sung: Whose soul, exalted, like a god of wit Among the muses and the graces writ. On the Countess Dowager of Pembroke. UNDERNEATH this sable hearse Of manners gentle, of affections mild; And uncorrupted e'en among the great: On Tom D'Urfey. HERE lies the lyric, who with tale and song Did life to threescore years and ten prolong: His tale was pleasant, and his song was sweet; His heart was cheerful-but his thirst was great. Grieve, reader! grieve, that he, too soon grown His song has ended, and his tale has told. [old, Inscription on an Urn at Lord Cork's, to the Memory of the Dog Hector. STRANGER, behold the mighty Hector's tomb! See! to what end both dogs and heroes come. He growl'd in anger, and in love caress'd. Truth shall adorn his tomb with Hector's praise. On an Old Woman who sold Pots at Chester. BENEATH this stone lies Cath'rine Gray, Chang'd to a lifeless lump of clay; By earth and clay she got her pelf, Yet now she's turn'd to earth herself. Ye weeping friends, let me advise, Abate your grief, and dry your eyes; For what avails a flood of tears? Who knows but in a run of years, In some tall pitcher, or broad pan, She in her shop may be again? To the Pie-house Memory of Nell Batchelor, the Oxford Pie-Woman. HERE, into the dust Of Eleanor Batchelor's shoven; Well vers'd in the arts Of pies, custards, and tarts, When she'd liv'd long enough, A puff by her husband much prais'd: HERE, Withers, rest! thou bravest, gentlest mind, Thy country's friend, but more of human kind! For thee the hardy vet'ran drops a tear, On Mr. Craggs. POPE. STATESMAN, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere, In action faithful, and in honor clear! On Sir Isaac Newton. APPROACH, ye wise of soul, with awe divine: [shrine! "Tis Newton's name that consecrates this That sun of knowledge, whose meridian ray Kindled the gloom of nature into day! |