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RICHMOND LODGE, The kingly prophet well evinces, That we should put no trust in princes : My royal master promis'd me To raise me to a high degree; But now he's grown a king, God wot, I fear I shall be soon forgot. You see, when folks have got their ends, How quickly they neglect their friends; Yet I may say, 'twixt me and you, Pray God, they now may find as true !
you and I been courtiers born,
No more the Dean, that grave divine,
RICHMOND LODGE. Here wont the Dean, when he's to seek; To spunge a breakfast once a week; To cry the bread was stale, and mutter Complaints against the royal butter. But now I fear it will be said, No butter sticks upon his bread. We soon shall find him full of spleen, For want of tattling to the queen; Stunning her royal ears with talking; His reverence and her highness walking : “While lady Charlotte *, like a stroller, Sits mounted on the garden-roller. A goodly sight to see her ride With ancient Mirmont + at her side. In velvet
his head lies warm ; His hat for show' beneatb his arm.
Some South Sea broker from the city
* Lady Charlotte de Roussy, a French lady. H. † Marquis de Mirmont, a Frenchman of quality. H.
Chang’d for the worse in every part,
In my own Thames may I be drownded, If e'er I stoop beneath a crown'd head : Except her majesty prevails To place me with the prince of Wales; And then I shal} be free from fears, For he'll be prince these fifty years. I then will turn a courtier too, And serve the times, as others do. Plain loyalty, not built on hope, I leave to your contriver, Pope : None loves his king and country better, Yet none was ever less their debtor,
Then let him come and take a trap In summer on my verdant lap: Prefer our villas, where the Thames is, To Kensington, or hot St. James's; Nor shall I dull in silence sit; For 'tis to me he owes his wit; My groves, my echoes, and my birds, Have taught him his poetick words. We gardens, and you wildernesses, Assist all poets in distresses. Him twice a week I here expect, To rattle Moody * for neglect; An idle rogue, who spends his quartridge In tippling at the Dog and Partridge; And I can hardly get him down Tbice times a week to brush my gown.
* The gardener, H.
Kind Richmond Lodge, the same to you.
DESIRE AND POSSESSION. 1727.
'Tis strange what different thoughts inspire
A moralist profoundly sage
Possession, and Desire his brother,
Desire, the swifter of the two,
He strove to pick up all he found,
pace, He spurn d them in his rival's face.
Possession kept the beaten road,
Desire had now the goal in sight:
Possession's load was grown so great,