The whole poetical works of Alexander Pope, Esq., including his translations of Homer's Iliad and Odyssey

Mine, as a foe profefs'd to falfe T pretence,
Who think a Coxcomb's honour like his fenfe;
Mine, as a friend to every worthy mind ;
And mine as man who feel for all mankind.

F. You're strangely proud.

P. So proud, I am nosllave
So impudent, I own myself, no knav❤ .-
So odd, my country's ruinmakes me graye.
Yes, I am
proud. I must be proud to fee
Men not afraid of God, afraid of mei

Safe from the Bar, the Pulpit, and the Throne, 210
Yet touch'd and fham'd by Ridicule alone.

O facred weapon left for truth's defence, Sole dread of fully, vice, and infolence! To all but heaven-directed hands deny'd, ~ + The Mufe may give thee, but the Gods muft guide:

220

Reverent I touch thee! but with honeft zeal;
Turouze the watchmen of the public weal,
To virtue's work provoke the tardy balls
And goad the prelate flumbering in his tall.
Ye tiniel infects! whom a court maintains,
That counts your beauties only by your ftains,
Spin all your cobwebs o'er the eye of day!
The mule's wing hall brush you all away:
All his Grace preaches, all his Lordship fings,
All that makes Saints of Queens, and Gods of
Kings.

All, all but truth, drops dead-born from the prefs,
Like the laft Gazette, or the lift Addrefs.

When black ambition frains arpublic cause, A Monarch's word, when mad vain-glory draws,

Not Waller's wreath can hide the nation's fear, 230 Not Boileau turn the feather to a ftar.

Not fo, when, diadem'd with rays divine, Touch'd with the flame that breaks from virtue's shrine,

་་་

235

Her prieftefs Mufe forbids the Good to die,
And opes the temple of Eternity.
There, other trophies deck the truly brave, .
Than fuch as Anftis cafts into the grave;
Far other Stars than* and ** wear,
And may defcend to Mordington from Stair;
(Such as on Hough's unfully'd mitre shine,
Or beam, good Digby, from a heart like thine)
Let envy howl, while Heaven's whole chorus
fings,

240

And bark at honour not conferr'd by kings;
Let flattery fickening fee the incenfe rife,
Sweet to the world, and grateful to the fkies: 245
Truth guards the poet, fanctifies the line,
And makes immortal, verfe as mean as mine.

Yes, the laft pen for Freedom let me draw, When Truth ftands trembling on the edge of

Law; Here, laft of Britons! let your names be read; 250 Are none, none living? let me praife the Dead, And for that Caufe which made your fathers shine,

Fall by the Votes of their degenerate line.

F. Alas, alas! pray end what you began, And write next winter more Effays on Man. 255 VOL. VI.

Horace

EPIS TL E VII. Imitated in the Männer of Dr. SWIFT. TIS true, my Lord, I gave my word,

I would be with you, June the third;
Chang'd it to Auguft, and (in hort)
Have kept it---as you dó at Court.
You humour me when I am fick,
Why not when I am iplenetick?
In town what objects could I meet?
The fhops fhut up in every street,
And funerals blackening all the doors,
And yet more melancholy whores:
And what a duft in every place
and a thin court that wants your face,
And fevers raging up and down,
And Wand H** both in town!

The dog-days are no more the case."
'Tis true, but winter comes apace:
Then fouthward let your bard retire, --
Hold out forme months 'twixt fun and fire,
And you fhall fee, the first warm weather,
Me and the Butterflies together.

My Lord, your favours well I know; 'Tis with diftinction you beftow; And not to every one that comes, Juft as a Scotfman does bis plums. "Pray take them, fir---Enough's a feaft: Eat fome, and pocket up the reft" What, rob your boys? thole pretty rogues No, fir, you'll leave them to the hogs." Thus fools with compliments befiege ye,.. Contriving never to oblige ye. Scatter your favours on a fup, $75 Ingratitude 's the certain crop; And 'tis but juft, I'll tell you wherefore, You give the things you never care for. A wite man always is or fhould Be mighty ready to do good j But makes a difference in his thought": Betwixt a guinea and a great.

Now this I'll fay, you'll find in me A fafe companion and a free: But if you'd have me always near--A word, pray, in your honour's ear. I hope it is your refolution To give me back my conftitution! The fprightly wit, the lively eye, Th' engaging fmile, the gaiety, That laugh'd down many a fummer fun, And kept you up fo oft till one: And all that voluntary vein, As when Belinda rais'd my strain.

A weazel once made fhift to flink. In at a corn-loft through a chink; But having amply ftuf'd his skin, Could not get out as he got in ;.. Which one belonging to the House ('Twas not a Man, it was a Moufe) Obferving, cry'd," You 'fcape not fo, "Lean as you came, fir, you must go.' I'm no fuch beaft, nor his relation; Sir, you may fpare your application, 3 G

45.

Nor one that temperance advance,
Cramm'd to the throat with ortolans:
Extremely ready to refign

All that may make me none of mine.
South-tea fubfcriptions take who please,
Leave me but liberty and ease.

'Twas what I said to Craggs and Child,
Who prais'd my inodefty, and fmil'd.
Give me, I cry'd, (enough for me)
My bread, and independency!
So bought an annual-rent or two,
And liv'd-juft as you see I do;
Near fifty, and without a wife,
I trust that finking fund, my life.
Can I retrench? Yes, mighty well,
Shrink back to my paternal cell,
A little houfe, with trees a row,
And, like its master, very low.
There dy'd my father, no man's debtor,
And there I'll die, nor worfe nor better.
To fet this matter full before ye,

Our old friend Swift will tell his ftory.
Harley, the nation's great fupport-.”
But you may read it, I stop short.

The latter Part of SATIRE VI.*
O Charming noons! and nights divine!
Or when I fup or when I dine,
My friends above, my folks below,
Chatting and laughing all-a-row,
The beans and bacon fet before 'em,
The grace-cup ferv'd with all decorum :
Each willing to be pleas'd, and please,
And even the very dogs at cafe!
Here no man prates of idle things,
How this or that Italian fings,
A neighbour's madness, or his fpoufe's,
Or what's in either of the Houses:
But fomething much more our concern,
And quite a fcandal not to learn: -
Which is the happier, or the wiser,
A man of merit, or a mifer?
Whether we ought to chufe our friends,
For their own worth, or our own ends?
What good; or better, we may call,
And what, the very best of all?

Our friend Dan Prior told (you know)

A tale extremely " à propos:"

Name a town-life, and in a trice

He had a ftory of two mice.

Our courtier scarce could touch a bit,
But fhow'd his breeding and his wit;
He did his beft to seem to eat,

And cry'd, I vow you're mighty neat. 65" But Lord, my friends, this favage fcene! 175 "For God's fake, come, and live with men : "Confider, mice, like men must die, "Both small and great, both you and I : "Then fpend your life in joy and sport,

70" (This doctrine, friend, I learn'd at Court)." 180
The verieft hermit in the nation

May yield, God knows, to ftrong temptation.
Away they came, through thick and thin,
To a tall houfe near Lincoln's Inn :
5(Twas on the night of a debate,

185

When all their Lordships had fate late.)
Behold the place, where if a poet
Shin'd in defcription, he might fhow it;

195

Palladian walls, Venetian doors,
Grotefco roofs, and ftucco floors,
But let it (in a word) be faid,
The Moon was up, and Men a-bed,
The napkin's white, the carpet red:
The guests withdrawn had left the treat,
And down the mice fate, "tête à tête.'
Our courtier walks from dish to dish,
Taftes for his friend of fowl and fish,
135 Tells all their names, lays down the law,
"Que ça eft bon! Ah goûtez ça !
"That jelly's rich, this malmey healing,
Pray dip your whiskers and your tail in."
Was ever fuch a happy fwain?
He ftuffs and fwills, and stuffs again.
"I'm quite afham'd---'tis mighty rude

140

To eat to much---but all 's to good. "I have a thousand thanks to give--"My Lord alone knows how to live." 145 No fooner faid but from the hall

150

155

"Give me again my hollow tree,

"A Cruft of Bread, and Liberty!"

200

205

210

215

220

Once on a time (o runs the Fable)
A Country Mouse, right hofpitable,
Receiv'd a Town Moufe at his board,
Just as a Farmer might a Lord.
A frugal moufe, upon the whole,
Yet lov'd his friend, and had a foul,
Knew what was handfome, and would do't,
On juft occafion, " coûte qui coûte."
He brought him bacon (nothing lean);
Pudding, that might have pleas'd a Dean;
Cheese, fuch as men in Suffolk make,
But with'd it Stilton for his fake;
Yet, to his gueft though no way sparing,
Me eat himself the rind and paring.

*See the first part in Swift's Peems.

Ah found no more thy foft alarms,

Nor circle fober fifty with thy charms! Mother too fierce of dear defires

Turn, turn to willing hearts your wanton fires. To number five direct your doves,

There spread round Murray all your blooming loves;

Noble and young, who ftrikes the heart
With every sprightly, every decent part;
Equal, the injur'd to defend,

To charm the mistress, or to fix the friend.
He with a hundred arts refin'd,

Shall ftretch thy conquefts over half the kind; To him each rival fhall fubmit,

Make but his riches equal to his wit. Then fhall thy form the marble grace,

(Thy Grecian form) and Chloe lend the face: His house, embofom'd in the grove, Sacred to focial life and focial love, Shall glitter o'er the pendent green, Where Thames reflects the vifionary scene: Thither the filver-founding lyres

Shall call the fmiling loves, and young defires;

There, every Grace and Muse shall throng,
Exalt the dance, or animate the fong;
There youths and nymphs, in confort gay,
Shall hail the rifing, close the parting day.
With me, alas! thofe joys are o'er;

For me the vernal garlands bloom no more. Adieu! fond hope of mutual fire,

The ftill-believing, ftill renew'd defire; Adieu! the heart-expanding bowl,

And all the kind deceivers of the foul! But why? ah tell me, ah too dear!

Steals down my cheek th' involuntary tear? Why words fo flowing, thoughts fo free, Stop, or turn nonfenfe, at one glance of thee? Thee, drefs'd in fancy's airy beam,

Abfent I follow through th' extended dream; Now, now I ceafe, I clafp thy charms,

And now you burft (ah, cruel!) from my

Aw'd, on my bended knees I fell,

Receiv'd the weapons of the fky; And dipp'd them in the fable well, The fount of fame or infamy.

"What well? what weapon? (Flavia cries) "A ftandifh, fteel and golden pen! "It came from Bertrand's, not the fkies; "I gave you to write again,

"But, friend, take heed whom you attack; "You'll bring a house (I mean of Peers) "Red, blue, and green, nay white and black, L- and all about your ears.

"You'd write as fmooth again on glass,
"And run, on ivory, fo glib,
"As not to ftick at fool or afs,
"Nor ftop a flattery or fib.

"Athenian Queen! and fober charms!
"I tell you, fool, there's nothing in't:
"'Tis Venus, Venus gives these arms;
"In Dryden's Virgil fee the print.

Come, if you'll be a quiet foul, "That dares tell neither truth nor lies, "I'll lift you in the harmless roll "Of those that ang of these poor eyes.”

3 G 2

EPISTLE

то

ROBERT EARL OF OXFORD,

AND

EARL MORTIMER,

SENT to the Earl of Oxford with Dr. Parnell's Poems, published by our Author after the faid Earl's Imprionment in the Tower, and Retreat into the country, in the year 1721.

SUCH

were the notes thy once-loved poet fung: Till death untimely fpp'd his tuneful tongue.

Oh just beheld, and loft! admir'd, and mourn'd!
With Tufteft manners, gent ft is adom!]
Bleft in each fcience, Meit in every ftrain!
Dear to the Mute to harley dear---in-yain!

For him, thou oft haft bid the world attend,
Fond to forget the flate man in the friend!
For Swift and him de pis'd the face of state,
The fober follies of the wife and great; har PO
Dextrous, the craving, fawning crowd to quit,
And pleas'd to 'fcape from Flattery to Wit.

Ablent or dead, ftill let a friend be dear," (A figh the abfent claims, the dead a test) Recall thofe nights that elos'd thy toil ore days,15 Still hearthy Parrell in his living lays, · Who, carclefs now of intereft, fame, or fate, Perhaps forgets that Oxford e'er was great; Or, deeming menneft what we greateft call, Beholds the glorious only in thy fall.

And fure, if aught below the feats divine Can touch immortals, 'tis a foul like thine is A foul fupreme, in each hard intance tyd, Above all pain, and pain, and all pride, T The rage of power, the biaft of public breath, 25 The luft of lucre, and the dread of death.

In vain to deferts thy retreat is made.2.2 The Mufe attends thee to thy filen: fhade: a 'Tis her's, the brave man's latest steps to trace, Re-judge his acts, and dignify difgrace... When intereft calls off all her (neaking train, And all th' oblig'd defeit, and all the vain; She waits, or to the fcaffold, or the cell, When the laft lingering friend has bid fore

well.

Ev'n now,

The fhades thy evaning-walk with 35 bays (No hireling fine, no profitute to praife) Ev'n now, obfervant of the parting ray, Eyes the calm fun-fet of thy various day," Through fortune's cloud one truly great can fee,

Nor fears to tell, that MORTIMER is he.

fufe

This, from no veral or ungrateful mufe.
Whether thy hand ftrike out fome free defign,
Where life awakes, and dawns at every line;
Or blend in beauteous tints the colour'd mals, 5
And from the canvas call the mimic face:
Read these inftructive leaves; in which con pite
Frefnoy's clofe art, and Dryden's native fire!
So mix'd our ftudies, and to join'd our name; 10
And reading with, like theirs, our fate, and fare,
Like them to fhine through long fucceeding age,
So juft thy fkill, fo regular my rage.

Smit with the love of fifter-arts we came, And met congenial, mingling flame with flame; Like friendly colours found them both unite, 15 And each from each contract new ftrength and

light.

How oft in pleafing talks we wear the day,
While furmer-fans roll unperceiv'd away!
While images reflect from art to art!
How oft our flowly-growing works impart,
How oft review; each finding like a friend
Something to blame, and fomething to commend!
What flattering fcenes our wandering fancy
wrought. 5*
Rome's pompous glories rifing to our thought!
Together o'er the Alps methinksfve fly,
Fir with ideas of fair Italy. LA

With thee on Raphael's monument I mourn,
Or wait infpiring dreams at Maro's urn:
With thee repofe, where Tully once was laid,
Or feek fome ruin's formidable fhade:
While fancy brings the vanith'd piles to view,
And builds imaginary Rome anew.
Here thy well-ftudied marbles fix our eye;
A fading Frefco, here demands a figh:
Each heavenly piece unwearied we compare,
Match Raphael's grace with thy lov'd Guido's air,
Carracci's ftrength, Correggio's fofter line,
Paul's free stroke, and Titian's warmth divine.
How finish'd with illuftrious toil appears
This fmall, well-polifh'dgem the work of years!40
Yet ftill how faint by precept is exprets'd
The living image in the painter's breast!
Thence endless ftreams of fair Ideas flow,
Strike in the fketéh, or in the picture glow;
Thence beauty, waking all her forms, fupplies 45
An angel's sweetness, or Bridgewater's eyes.
Mute! at that name thy facred forrows fhed,
Thofe tears eternal that embalm the dead;
Call round her tomb each object of defire,
Lach purer frame inform'd with purer fife:
Bid her be all that chears or föftens life,
The tender fifter, daughter, friend, and wife,
Bid her be all that makes mankind adore,
Then view this marble, and be vain.no more!
Yet ftill her charms in breathing paint en-

gage;

5.5

Her modeft cheek fhall warm a future age."
Beauty, frail flower that every season fears,
Blooms in thy colours for a thousand years.
Thus Churchill's race fhall other hearts furprife,
And other beauties envy Worfley's eyes;
Each pleafing Blount fhall endless fmiles beftew,
And foft Belinda's blufh for ever glow.
Oh, lafting as thofe colours may they fhine,
Free as thy ftroke, yet faultlefs as thy line;"
New
graces yearly like thy works difplay,
Soft without weakness, without glaring gay;
Led by fome rule, that guides, but not conftrains;
And finish'd more through happiness than pains
The kindred arts fhall in their praife confpire,
One dip the pencil, and one ftring the lyre.
Yet fhould the Graces all thy figures place,
And breathe an air divine on every face;
Yet fhould the Mufes bid my numbers roll
Strong as their charms, and gentle as their foul;
With Zeuxis' Helen thy Bridgewater vie,
And these be fung till Granville's Myra die:
Alas! how little from the grave we claim!
Thou but preferv'it a Face, and I a Name.

WITH THE WORKS OF VOITURE. IN thefe gay thoughts the loves and Graces fhine, And all the Writer lives in every' line:

His eafy Art may happy Nature feem,
Trifles themselves are elegant in him.

Sure to charm all was his peculiar fate,
Who without flattery pleas'd the fair and great;
Still with efteem no lefs convers'd than read;
With wit well-natur'd, and with books well-
bred:

His heart, bis miftrefs and his friend did fhare;
His time, the Mufe, the witty and the fair.
Thus wifely careless, innocently gay,,
Chearful he play'd the trifle, Life, away;
Till fate fcarce felt his gentle breath fuppreft;
As fmiling infants fport themselves to reft.
Ev'n rival wits did Voiture's death deplore, 15
And the gay mourn'd who never mourn'd be-
fore:

The trueft hearts for Voiture heav'd with fighs,
Voiture was wept by all the brighteft eyes:
The Smiles and Loves had died in Voiture's
death,

But that for ever in his lines they breathe.
Let the ftrict life of graver mortals be

A long, exact, and ferious comedy';
In every scene some moral let it teach,
And, if it can, at once both please and preach.
Let mine, an innocent gay farce appear,
And more diverting ftill than regular,
Have humour, wit, a native cafe and grace,
Though not too ffrictly bound to time and place:
Critics in Wit, or Life, are hard to please;
Few write to thofe, and none can live to thefe. 30
Too much your fex are by their forms con-
fin'd,

Severe to all, but moft to Womankind;
Cuftom, grown blind with age, must be your

guide;

Your pleasure is a vice, but not your pride;
By nature yielding, ftubborn but for fame;
*35
Made Slaves by honour, and made Fools by
fhame.

Marriage may all thofe petty tyrants chace,
But fets up one, a greater in their place;
Well might you wish for change by thofe ac-
curft,

But the laft tyrant ever proves the worst.
Still in constraint your fuffering fex remains,
Or bound in formal or in real chains:
Whole years neglected, for fome months ador'd,
The fawning Servant turns a haughty Lord.
Ah, quit not the free innocence of life,
For the dull glory of a virtuous Wife;
Nor let falfe fhews, nor empty titles pleafe:
Aim not at joy, but reft content with cafe.

The Gods, to curfe Pamela with her prayers, Gave the gilt coach and dappled Flanders mares,50 The Thining robes, rich jewels, beds of state, And, to complete her blifs, a Fool for mate.. She glares in balls, front boxes, and the ring, A vain, unquiet, glittering, wretched thing! Pride, pomp, and ftate, but reach her outward 55 part; She fighs, and is no Duchefs at her heart. Eut, madum, if the fates withitand, and you Are deftin'd Hymen's willing Victim too ;Truft not too much your now reiftless chanus, Thole, age or ficknefs, foen or late difarms: 60 Good-humour only teaches charms to laft, Still makes new conquefts, and maintains the paft

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The whole poetical works of Alexander Pope, Esq., including his translations ...