My coat of purest Turkey-red,
With gold embroid'ry richly spread;
To which, I've fure as good pretenfions,
As Irish lords who starve on penfions.
What tho' proud minifters of ftate
Did at your antichamber wait;
What tho' your Oxfords, and your St. Johns,
Have at your Levee paid attendance;
And Peterborough and great Ormond,
With many chiefs who now are dormant,
Have laid afide the general's staff
And public cares, with you to laugh;
Yet I fome friends as good can name,
Nor less the darling fons of fame;
For fure my Pollio and Mecænas
Were as good statesman, Mr. Dean, as
Either your Bolingbroke or Harley,
Tho' they made Lewis beg a parley:
And as for Mordaunt uour lov❜d hero,
I'll match him with my Drufus Nero.
You'll boaft perhaps your fav'rite Pope,
But Virgil is as good I hope.
I own indeed I can't get any
To equal Helfham and Delany;
Since, Athens brought forth Socrates,
A Grecian Isle Hippocrates;
Since, Tully liv'd before my time,
And Galen blefs'd another clime.
You'll plead perhaps to my request,
To be admitted as a guest,
Your hearing's bad--but why fuch fears?
I fpeak to eyes, and not to ears;
And for that reason, wifely took
The form you see me in, a book.
Attack'd, by flow devouring moths,
By rage of barb'rous Huns and Goths:
By Bentley's notes, my deadlieft foes,
By Creech's rhimes and Dunfter's profe;
I found my boafted wit and fire
In their rude hands almost expire:
Yet ftill they but in vain affail'd,
For had their violence prevail'd,
And in a blast destroy'd my fame,
"They wou'd have partly miss'd their aim;
Since all my fpirit in thy page
Defies the Vandals of this age.
'Tis yours to fave these fmall remains
From future pedants muddy brains,
And fix my long-uncertain fate,
VERSES written in a GARDEN.
EE how that pair of billing doves
With open murmurs own their loves;
And heedlefs of cenforious eyes,
Purfue their unpolluted joys:
No fears of future want moleft
The downy quiet of their neft;
No int'reft join'd the happy pair,
Securely bleft in Nature's care,
While her dear dictates they pursue :
For conftancy is nature too.
Can all the doctrine of our schools,
Our maxims, our religious rules,
Can learning to our lives enfure®
Virtue fo bright, or bliss so pure?
The great Creator's happy ends,
Virtue and pleasure ever blends:
In vain the church and court have try'd
Th' united effence to divide ;
Alike they find their wild miftake,
The pedant prieft, and giddy rake.
S it to me, this fad lamenting ftrain ?
Are heaven's choiceft gifts bestow'd in vain ?
A plenteous fortune, and a beauteous bride,
Your love rewarded, gratify'd your pride :
Yet leaving her'tis me that you pursue
Without one fingle charm, but being new?
How vile is man! how I deteft their ways
Of artful falfhood, and defigning praise !
Tasteless, an easy happiness you flight,
Ruin your joy, and mischief your delight.
Why should poor pug (the mimic of your kind)
Wear a rough chain, and be to box confin'd?
Some cup, perhaps, he breaks, or tears a fan,
While roves unpunish'd the deftroyer, man.
Not bound by vows, and unrestrain'd by shame,
In fport you break the heart, and rend the fame.
Not that your art can be successful here,
Th' already plunder'd need no robber fear:
Nor fighs, nor charms, nor flatteries can move,
Too well fecur'd against a second love.
Once, and but once, that devil charm'd my
To reason deaf, to observation blind;
I idly hop'd (what cannot love perfuade!)
My fondness equal'd, and my love repay'd;
Slow to diftruft, and willing to believe,
Long hush'd my doubts, and did myself deceive:
But oh! too foon-this tale would ever laft;
Sleep, fleep, my wrongs, and let me think 'em past.
For you, who mourn with counterfeited grief,
And ask fo boldly like a begging thief,
May foon fome other nymph inflict the pain,
You know fo well with cruel art to feign.
Tho' long you sported have with Cupid's dart,
You may fee eyes, and you may feel a heart.
So the brifk wits, who ftop the evening coach,
Laugh at the fear that follows their approach;
With idle mirth, and haughty fcorn despise
The paffenger's pale cheek, and staring eyes:
But feiz'd by Juftice, find a fright no jeft,
And all the terror doubled in their breast.
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