'Twas a woman at first, (Indeed she was curst) In knowledge that tasted delight, And sages agree The laws should decree To the first possessor the right. Then bravely, fair dame, Resume the old claim, And let men receive, From a second bright Eve, The knowledge of right and of wrong. But if the first Eve Hard doom did receive, When only one apple had she, What a punishment new Shall be found out for you, Who tasting have robb’d the whole tree? EXTEMPORANEOUS LINES ON A PORTRAIT OF LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGU, PAINTED BY KNELLER. The playful smiles around the dimpled mouth, The equal lustre of the heavenly mind, LINES SUNG BY DURASTANTI, WHEN SHE TOOK LEAVE OF THE ENGLISH STAGE. GENEROUS, gay, and gallant nation, Bold in arms, and bright in arts ; All but Cupid's gentle darts ! you for the sun ? Happy soil, adieu, adieu ! In arms, in arts, be still more shining; All your tastes be still refining; But let old charmers yield to new : UPON THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH'S HOUSE AT WOODSTOCK See, sir, here's the grand approach, is for his Grace's coach; any wind. Thanks, sir, cried I, 'tis very fine, VERSES LEFT BY MR. POPE, ON HIS LYING IN THE SAME BED WHICH WILMOT, THE CELEBRATED EARL OF ROCHESTER, SLEPT IN AT ADDERBURY, THEN BELONGING TO THE DUKE OF ARGYLE, JULY 9TH, 1739. With no poetic ardour fir’d the bed where Wilmot lay; That here he lov’d, or here expir’d, Begets no numbers grave or gay. Beneath thy roof, Argyle, are bred Such thoughts as prompt the brave to lie Stretch'd out in honour's nobler bed, Beneath a nobler roof—the sky. Such flames as high in patriots burn, Yet stoop to bless a child or wife; And such as wicked kings may mourn, When freedom is more dear than life. THE CHALLENGE. A COURT BALLAD. TO THE TUNE OF' TO ALL YOU LADIES NOW AT LAND,' ETC. To one fair lady out of court, And two fair ladies in, And wit and love no sin; With a fa, la, la. What passes in the dark third row, And what behind the scene, And garrets hung with green; 1 Ulrick, the little Turk. 3 The Author. 3 Ladies of the Court of the Princess Caroline. Where many I know the swing of sinful hack, damsels cry alack. With a fa, la, la. Then why to courts should I repair, Where's such ado with Townshend? To hear each mortal stamp and swear, And every speech with Zounds end ; To hear 'em rail at honest Sunderland, And rashly blame the realm of Blunderland. With a fa, la, la. Alas! like Schutz I cannot pun, Like Grafton court the Germans; Like Meadows 5 run to sermons; With a fa, la, la. In truth, by what I can discern, Of courtiers 'twixt you three, From court, than Gay or Me: Perhaps, in time, you'll leave high diet, sup with us on milk and quiet. To * Ireland. s Mentioned before in the verses to Mrs. Howe. |