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Why should I stay? Both parties rage;
My vixen mistress squalls;

The wits in envious feuds engage;

And Homer (damn him!) calls.

The love of arts lies cold and dead
In Hallifax's urn;

And not one Muse of all he fed,
Has yet the grace to mourn.

My friends, by turns, my friends confound,
Betray, and are betray'd:

Poor Yrs fold for fifty pounds,
And B11 is a jade.

Why make I friendships with the great,
When I no favour feek?

Or follow girls feven hours in eight?-
I us'd but once a week.

Still idle, with a bufy air,

Deep whimfies to contrive


The gayest valetudinaire,

Most thinking rake alive.

Solicitous for other ends,

Tho' fond of dear repose;

Careless or drowsy with my friends,

And frolick with my foes.


Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell,
For fober, ftudious days!

And Burlington's delicious meal,
For fallads, tarts, and peafe!

Adieu to all but Gay alone,

Whofe foul, fincere and free,

Loves all mankind, but flatters none, And fo may starve with me.

Thefe Lines were added by Mr. POPE after the present Conclufion of his Addrefs to Mifs MARTHA BLOUNT, on her leaving Town, &c. "As fome fond Virgin, &c."


this strange town a different course we take, Refine ourselves to fpirit, for your fake.

For want of you, we spend our random wit on
The first we find with Needham, Brooks, or Briton.
Hackney'd in fin, we beat about the town,
And like sure spaniels, at first scent lie down:
Were Virtue's felf in filks-faith keep away!
Or virtue's virtue fcarce would last a day.

Thus, Madam, most men talk, and fome men do; The rest is told you in a line or two.

Some strangely wonder you're not fond to marry-
A double jest still pleases fweet Sir Harry
Small-pox is rife, and Gay in dreadful fear-

The good priests whisper-Where's the chevalier?
Much in your abfence B-'s heart endures,

And if poor Pope is


the fault is yours.

The following Lines were fung by Durastanti, when fhe took her leave of the English Stage. The Words were in Hafte put together by Mr. POPE, at the Request of the Earl of PETERBOROW.


ENEROUS, gay, and gallant nation,
Bold in arms, and bright in arts;

Land fecure from all invafion,

All but Cupid's gentle darts!

From your charms, oh who would run?
Who would leave you for the fun?

Happy foil, adieu, adieu!

Let old charmers yield to new.

In arms, in arts, be still more shining; All your joys be ftill encreasing;

All your taftes be still refining;

All your jars for ever ceafing:

But let old charmers yield to new :-
Happy foil, adieu, adieu!

Upon the Duke of MARLBOROUGH's House at Woodstock.

Atria longè patent; fed nec cœnantibus ufquam,
Nec fomno locus eft: quàm bene non habites!

MART. Epig.

EE, Sir, here's the grand approach,


This way is for his Grace's coach;

There lies the bridge, and here's the clock,
Obferve the lion and the cock,

The fpacious court, the colonnade,

And mark how wide the hall is made!
The chimneys are fo well defign'd,
They never smoke in any wind.
This gallery's contriv'd for walking,
The windows to retire and talk in;
The council-chamber for debate,
And all the reft are rooms of state,

Thanks, Sir, cry'd I, 'tis very fine,
But where d'ye fleep, or where d'ye dine?
I find by all you have been telling,
That 'tis a house, but not a dwelling.

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