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The brightest eyes of France inspir'd his Muse;
And dead, as living, 'tis our Author's pride
Still to charm those who charm the world beside.
on all occasions alike. Yet was he the first that gave form and harmony to the French prose, which was still improved by the provincial letters of Pascal.
Ver. 80. beside] This last word is a blemish to the piece, otherwise so correct.
TO THE SAME,
ON HER LEAVING THE TOWN AFTER THE CORONATION.
As some fond Virgin, whom her mother's care
Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,
Coronation] Of King George the First, 1715.
Ver. 1. As some fond Virgin,] There is so much likeness (to use Johnson's words on another poem) in the initial comparison, that there is no illustration. As one lady lamented the going out of London, so did another.
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
There starve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n.
Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd
While the spread fan o'ershades your closing eyes;
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls! 40
Ver. 23. Squire,] No country Squire has ever been painted with such true and natural features and colours as Addison's Tory Foxhunter, in the Freeholder, except perhaps Western, in that capital picture of life, the History of Tom Jones.
Just when his fancy points your sprightly eyes, 45 Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise,
Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite, Streets, Chairs, and Coxcombs rush upon my sight; Vext to be still in town, I knit my brow,
Look sour, and hum a Tune, as you may now. 50
Ver. 46. of soft Parthenia rise,] It does not seem perfectly gallant to introduce the name of another lady.
THE Basset-Table spread, the Tallier come; Why stays SMILINDA in the Dressing-Room? Rise, pensive Nymph, the Tallier waits for you:
Ver. 1. The Basset-Table spread,] There were six Town Eclogues; two written by Mr. Pope, and the rest by Lady Wortley Montague, whose fine genius and abilities are well known; and from whose hand I am glad to present the reader with the fol lowing Sonnet, preserved by Algarotti, in the seventh volume of his works:
"Thou Silver Deity of secret night,
Direct my footsteps through the Woodland shade;
Thou conscious witness of unknown delight,
The Lover's Guardian, and the Muse's aid.
By thy pale beams I solitary rove,
To thee my tender grief confide;
Serenely sweet you gild the silent grove,
Veil'd in the mantle of concealing night,
With all thy greatness, and thy coldness too!"