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IMPROMPTU,

TO LADY WINCHELSEA.

OCCASIONED BY FOUR SATIRICAL VERSES ON WOMEN WITS, IN THE

RAPE OF THE LOCK.

In vain you boast poetic names of yore,
And cite those Sapphos we admire no more:
Fate doom'd the fall of every female wit;
But doom'd it then, when first Ardelia writ.
Of all examples by the world confess’d,
I knew Ardelia could not quote the best ;
Who, like her mistress on Britannia's throne,
Fights and subdues in quarrels not her own.
To write their praise you but in vain essay;
Even while you write, you take that praise away:
Light to the stars the sun does thus restore,
But shines himself till they are seen no more.

EPIGRAM.

A Bishop by his neighbours hated
Has cause to wish himself translated ;
But why should Hough desire translation,
Loved and esteemed by all the nation ?
Yet, if it be the old man's case,
I'll lay my life I know the place :
'Tis where God sent some that adore him,
And whither Enoch went before him.

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EPIGRAM,

ON THE FEUDS ABOUT HANDEL AND BONONCINI.

Strange! all this difference should be
”Twixt Tweedle-Dum and Tweedle-DEE!

ON MRS. TOFTS,

A CELEBRATED OPERA-SINGER.

So bright is thy beauty, so charming thy song,
As had drawn both the beasts and their Orpheus

along : But such is thy avarice, and such is thy pride, That the beasts must have starved, and the poet

have died.

THE BALANCE OF EUROPE.

Now Europe balanced, neither side prevails ; For nothing's left in either of the scales.

APPLIED TO F. C.

HERE Francis Chartres lies*—be civil!
The rest God knows-perhaps the Devil.

* Thus applied by Mr. Pope: “ Here lies Lord Coningsby.”

EPIGRAM.

You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come : Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.

EPIGRAM FROM THE FRENCH.

PRIOR.

Sir, I admit your general rule,
That every poet is a fool:
But you yourself may serve to show it,
That every fool is not a poet.

EPITAPH.

WELL

ELL then, poor G-lies under ground! So there's an end of honest Jack. So little justice here he found,

'Tis ten to one he'll ne'er come back.

EPIGRAM.

ON THE TOASTS OF THE KIT-CAT CLUB, ANNO 1716.*

Whence deathless KIT-CAT took its name,

Few critics can unriddle :
Some say from PASTRYCOOK it came,

And some, from cat and FIDDLE.

From no trim beaux its name it boasts,

Gray statesmen, or green wits ; But from this pellmell pack of toasts

Of old cats and young KITS.

TO A LADY,

WITH THE TEMPLE OF FAME.

What's fame with men, by custom of the nation,
Is call’d, in women, only reputation :
About them both why keep we such a pother ?
Part

you with one, and I'll renounce the other.

* The Kit-cat Club, which was the point of convivial union among the friends of the Hanoverian succession, was sometimes said to have derived its name from Christopher Kat, a pastry-cook, remarkable for the excellence of his twopenny pies. Others supposed it was from a cat and fiddle, the sign of the tavern. But the epigrammatist, with no very pregnant humour, derives it from their toasts, upon each of whom they wrote verses, which were engraved upon the glasses consecrated to the health proposed.

Sir W. Scott.

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 frown'd, and “ Use (he cried) those eyes

“ So skilful, and those hands so taper ; Do something exquisite and wise—”

She bow'd, obey'd 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 !

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