Laft Friday night, as neighbours ufe,
This couple met to talk of news :
For by old proverbs it appears,
That walls have tongues, and hedges ears.
Quoth Marble-hill, right well I ween, Your mistress now is grown a queen : You'll find it foon by woeful proof; She'll come no more beneath your roof.
RICHMOND-LODGE.
The kingly prophet well evinces, That we should put no trust in princes : My royal master promis'd me
To raise me to a high degree;
But now he's grown a king, God wot,
I fear I fhall be soon forgot.
You fee, when folks have got their ends,
How quickly they neglect their friends;
Yet I may say, 'twixt me and you,
Pray God, they now may find as true!
My house was built but for a fhow,
My lady's empty pockets know;
And now she will not have a fhilling,
To raise the stairs, or build the cieling;
For all the courtly madams round
Now pay four fhillings in the pound:
'Tis come to what I always thought:
My dame is hardly worth a groat.
Had you and I been courtiers born,
We should not thus have lain forlorn :
For those we dextrous courtiers call,
Can rise upon their masters' fall.
But we, unlucky and unwife,
Muft fall because our masters rise.
RICHMOND-LODGE.
My mafter, fcarce a fortnight fince,
Was grown as wealthy as a prince;
But now it will be no fuch thing,
For he 'll be poor as any king :
And by his crown will nothing get,
But like a king to run in debt.
No more the Dean, that grave divine,
Shall keep the key of my no-wine;
My ice-house rob, as heretofore,
And steal my artichokes no more;
Poor Patty Blount no more be feen
Bedraggled in my walks so green :
Plump Johnny Gay will now elope;
And here no more will dangle Pope.
RICHMOND-LODGE.
Here wont the Dean, when he's to feek,
To fpunge a breakfast once a week ;
To cry the bread was ftale, and mutter
Complaints against the royal butter.
But now I fear it will be faid,
No butter flicks upon his bread.
We foon fhall find him full of spleen,
For want of tattling to the queen ;
Stunning her royal ears with talking;
His reverence and her highness walking:
Whilft lady Charlotte *, like a stroller,
Sits mounted on the garden-roller.
A goodly fight to fee her ride
With ancient Mirmont † at her fide.
In velvet cap his head lies warm;
His hat for fhow beneath his arm.
Some South Sea broker from the city
Will purchase me, the more 's the pity;
Lay all my fine plantations waste
To fit them to his vulgar tafte;
Chang'd for the worse in every part,
My mafter Pope will break his heart.
RICHMOND-LODGE.
In my own Thames may I be drownded,
If e'er I ftoop beneath a crown'd-head :
Except her majefty prevails
To place me with the prince of Wales;
And then I fhall be free from fears,
For he 'll be prince these fifty years.
I then will turn a courtier too,
And ferve the times, as others do.
* Lady Charlotte de Rouffy, a French lady.
+ Marquis de Mirmont, a French man of quality.
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. James'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 wildernesses,
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 so great a bleffing;
So disappointed 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 seen 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 fwifter 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 lost his ground:
No fooner got, than with difdain
He threw thein on the ground again;
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