'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,

Which to your whole sex does belong;
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, That happy air of majesty and truth,

So would I draw: but oh! 'tis vain to try ;

My narrow genius does the power deny.

The equal lustre of the heavenly mind,
Where every grace with every virtue's join'd;
Learning not vain, and wisdom not severe,
With greatness easy, and with wit sincere;
With just description show the soul divine,
And the whole princess in my work should shine.

LINES SUNG BY DURASTANTI, WHEN SHE TOOK LEAVE OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.

GENEROUS, gay, and gallant nation,
Bold in arms, and bright in arts;
Land secure from all invasion,

All but Cupid's gentle darts!

From your charms, Oh! who would run?
Who would leave you for the sun?

Happy soil, adieu, adieu!

Let old charmers yield to new.

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

All your tastes be still refining;

All your jars for ever ceasing:

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

UPON THE DUKE OF MARLBOROUGH'S HOUSE

AT WOODSTOCK

SEE, sir, here's the grand approach,

This way is for his Grace's coach;

There lies the bridge, and here's the clock,

Observe the lion and the cock,

The spacious court, the colonnade,

And mark how wide the hall is made!

The chimneys are so well design'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 rest are rooms of state.

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

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

I

press 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,

Who think the Turk1 and Pope2 a sport,

And wit and love no sin;

Come these soft lines, with nothing stiff in,
To Bellenden, Lepell, and Griffin.3
With a fa, la, la.

What passes in the dark third row,
And what behind the scene,
Couches and crippled chairs I know,
And garrets hung with green;

1 Ulrick, the little Turk.

2 The Author.

Ladies of the Court of the Princess Caroline.

VOL. II.

I know the swing of sinful hack,
Where many 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;
Tell Pickenbourg how slim she's grown,
Like Meadows5 run to sermons;
To court ambitious men may roam,
But I and Marlbro' stay at home.
With a fa, la, la.

In truth, by what I can discern,
Of courtiers 'twixt you three,
Some wit you have, and more may

learn

From court, than Gay or Me:
Perhaps, in time, you'll leave high diet,
To sup with us on milk and quiet.
With a fa, la, la.

• Ireland.

• Mentioned before in the verses to Mrs. Howe.