Plain loyalty, not built on hope,
I leave to your contriver, Pope :
None loves his king and country better,
Yet none was ever lefs their debtor.
Then let him come and take a nap
In fummer on my verdant lap:
Prefer our villas, where the Thames is,
To Kenfington, or hot St. Jaines's;
Nor fhall I dull in filence fit;
For 'tis to me he owes his wit;
My groves, my echoes, and my birds,
Have taught him his poetic words.
We gardens, and you wilderneffes,.
Affift all poets in diftreffes.
Him twice a week I here expect,
To rattle Moody for neglect;
An idle rogue, who fpends his quartridge
In tippling at the Dog and partridge;
And I can hardly get him down
Three times a week to brush my gown..
RICHMOND-LODGE.
I pity you, dear Marble-hill;
But hope to fee you flourish ftill.
All happinefs-and fo adieu.
MARBLE-HILL.
Kind Richmond-lodge, the fame to you.
DESIRE AND POSSESSION. 1727. "TIS ftrange, what different thoughts infpire
In men, Poffeffion and Defire!
Think what they with fo great a blessing;
So difappointed when poffeffing!
A moralift profoundly fage
(I know not in what book or page,
Or whether o'er a pot of ale)
Related thus the following tale.
Poffeffion, and Defire his brother,
But ftill at variance with each other,
Were feen contending in a race;
And kept at first an equal pace :
'Tis faid, their course continued long;
For this was active, that was ftrong:
Till Envy, Slander, Sloth, and Doubt,
Misled them many a league about.
Seduc'd by fome deceiving light,
They take the wrong way for the right;
Through flippery by-roads dark and deep,
They often climb, and often creep.
Defire, the swifter of the two,
Along the plain like lightning flew :
Till, entering on a broad high-way,
Where power and titles scatter'd lay,
He ftrove to pick up all he found,
And by excurfions loft his ground:
No fooner got, than with disdain
He threw them on the ground again;
And hafted forward to pursue
Fresh objects fairer to his view;
In hope to spring some nobler game;
But all he took was just the same :
Too fcornful now to stop his pace,
He fpurn'd them in his rival's face.
Poffeffion kept the beaten road;
And gather'd all his brother strow'd;
But overcharg'd, and out of wind,
Though ftrong in limbs, he lagg'd behind.
Defire had now the goal in fight:
It was a tower of monstrous height;
Where on the fummit Fortune stands,
A crown and fceptre in her hands
Beneath a chafm as deep as hell,
Where many a bold adventurer fell.
Defire in rapture gaz'd a while,
And faw the treacherous goddess smile;
But, as he climb'd to grasp the crown,
She knock'd him with the fceptre down.
He tumbled in the gulph profound;
There doom'd to whirl an endless round.
Poffeffion's load was grown fo great, He funk beneath the cumberous weight: And, as he now expiring lay,
Flocks every ominous bird of
The raven, vulture, owl, and kite,
At once upon his carcase light,
And, ftrip his hide, and pick his bones,
Regardless of his dying groans.
CENSURE. 1727.
E wife, instruct me to endure
An evil, which admits no cure;
Or, how this evil can be borne,
Which breeds at once both hate and fcorn.
Bare innocence is no fupport,
When you are try'd in Scandal's court.
Stand high in honour, wealth, or wit:
All others, who inferior fit,
Conceive themselves in confcience bound
To join, and drag you to the ground.
Your altitude offends the eyes
Of those who want the power to rife.
The world, a willing stander-by,
Inclines to aid a specious lye :
Alas! they would not do you wrong;
But all appearances are strong!
Yet whence proceeds this weight we lay
On what detracting people say?
For let mankind difcharge their tongues
In venom, till they burst their lungs,
Their utmost malice cannot make
Your head, or tooth, or finger ake;
Nor fpoil your shape, diftort your face,
Or put one feature out of place;
Nor will you find your fortune fink
By what they speak or what they think;
Nor can ten hundred thousand lyes
Make you lefs virtuous, learn'd, or wife.
The most effectual way to baulk
Their malice, is-to let them talk.
Set of phrases learnt by rote;
A paffion for a scarlet-coat;
When at a play to laugh, or cry,
Yet cannot tell the reason why;
Never to hold her tongue a minute,
While all fhe prates has nothing in it';
Whole hours can with a coxcomb fit,
And take his nonfenfe all for wit;
Her learning mounts to read a fong,
But half the words pronouncing wrong;
Hath every repartee in store
She spoke ten thousand times before;
Can ready compliments fupply
On all occafions, cut and dry;
Such hatred to a parson's gown,
The fight will put her in a fwoon;
For converfation well endued,
She calls it witty to be rude;
And, placing raillery in railing,
Will tell aloud your greatest failing;
Nor make a fcruple to expofe
Your bandy leg, or crooked nofe;
Can at her morning tea run o'er
The fcandal of the day before;
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