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Shouts answ'ring shouts, from Kent and Essex roar,
And bells break loud thro' every gust of air:
Bonfires do blaze, and bones and cleavers ring,
As at the coming of some mighty king.


Now pass we Gravesend with a friendly wind, 25
And Tilbury's white fort, and long Blackwall;
Greenwich, where dwells the friend of human kind,
More visited than either park or hall,

Withers the good, and (with him ever join'd)
Facetious Disney, greet thee first of all :

I see his chimney smoke, and hear him say,
Duke! that's the room for Pope, and that for Gay.


Come in, my friends, here shall ye dine and lie,
And here shall breakfast, and here dine again;

And sup, and breakfast on (if ye comply),

For I have still some dozens of champaign:

His voice still lessens as the ship sails by;
He waves his hand to bring us back in vain;

For now I see proud London's spires;

Greenwich is lost, and Deptford dock retires.





Oh, what a concourse swarms on yonder key!
The sky re-echoes with new shouts of joy:
By all this show, I ween, 'tis Lord May'rs day;
I hear the voice of trumpet and hautboy.—
No, now I see them near-oh, these are they
Who come in crowds to welcome thee from Troy.

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Hail to the bard whom long as lost we mourn'd,
From siege, from battle, and from storm, return'd!

Of goodly dames, and courteous knights, I view
The silken petticoat, and broider'd vest;
Yea, Peers, and mighty Dukes, with ribands blue
(True blue, fair emblem of unstained breast).
Others I see, as noble, and more true,

By no court-badge distinguish'd from the rest :
First see I Methuen, of sincerest mind,
As Arthur grave, as soft as woman kind.





What lady's that, to whom he gently bends?
Who knows not her? ah! those are Wortley's eyes,
How art thou honour'd, number'd with her friends:
For she distinguishes the good and wise.
The sweet-tongu'd Murray near her side attends.
Now to my heart the glance of Howard flies;
Now Harvey, fair of face, I mark full well,
With thee, youth's youngest daughter, sweet Lepell.


I see two lovely sisters, hand in hand,

The fair-hair'd Martha, and Teresa brown;

Madge Bellenden, the tallest of the land;

And smiling Mary, soft and fair as down.



Ver. 57. As Arthur grave, &c.] This person is mentioned in the Epistle to Arbuthnot, v. 23:

"Arthur whose giddy son neglects the laws,

Imputes to me, and my damn'd works, the cause!"

Ver. 62. The sweet-tongu'd Murray,] The present Lord Mansfield.

Yonder I see the cheerful Dutchess stand,

For friendship, zeal, and blithsome humours,

Whence that loud shout in such a hearty strain?
Why, all the Hamiltons are in her train.


See next the decent Scudamore advance,
With Winchelsea, still meditating song:



With her perhaps Miss Howe came there by chance,
Nor knows with whom, or why she comes along.
Far off from these see Santlow, fam'd for dance;
And frolic Bicknell, and her sister young;
With other names, by me not to be nam'd,
Much lov'd in private, not in public fam'd!


But now behold the female band retire,

And the shrill music of their voice is still'd!
Methinks I see fam'd Buckingham admire,
That in Troy's ruin thou hadst not been kill'd;
Sheffield, who knows to strike the living lyre,

With hand judicious, like thy Homer skill'd.
Bathurst impetuous hastens to the coast,
Whom you and I strive who shall love the most.


See generous Burlington, with goodly Bruce (But Bruce comes wafted in a soft sedan),





Ver. 78. Santlow, fam'd for dance ;] She afterward married Booth the player. Mrs. Bicknell, the actress, is mentioned either in the Spectator or Tatler, with applause.

Dan Prior next, belov'd by every muse,

And friendly Congreve, unreproachful man! (Oxford by Cunningham hath sent excuse)


See hearty Watkins comes with cup and can; And Lewis, who has never friend forsaken ; And Laughton whisp'ring asks-Is Troy town taken?


Earl Warwick comes, of free and honest mind;

Bold, gen'rous Craggs, whose heart was ne'er dis


Ah why, sweet St. John, cannot I thee find?

St. John for every social virtue priz'd.

Alas! to foreign climates he's confin'd,


Or else to see thee here I well surmis'd: Thou too, my Swift, dost breathe Boeotian air; When wilt thou bring back wit and humour here?


Harcourt I see for eloquence renown'd,
The mouth of justice, oracle of law !
Another Simon is beside him found,

Another Simon, like as straw to straw.


How Lansdown smiles, with lasting laurel crown'd! What mitred prelate there commands our awe?

See Rochester approving nods his head,

And ranks one modern with the mighty dead.



Ver. 112. See Rochester approving nods his head,] So in the Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot:

"Ev'n mitr'd Rochester would nod the head."


Carlton and Chandois thy arrival grace;
Hanmer, whose eloquence th' unbiass'd sways;
Harley, whose goodness opens in his face,


And shews his heart the seat where virtue stays. Ned Blount advances next, with busy pace,

In haste, but saunt'ring, hearty in his ways: I see the friendly Carylls come by dozens, Their wives, their uncles, daughters, sons, and cou




Arbuthnot there I see, in physic's art,

As Galen learn'd, or famed Hippocrate;
Whose company drives sorrow from the heart,
As all disease his medicines dissipate :
Kneller amid the triumph bears his part,

Who could (were mankind lost) anew create:
What can th' extent of his vast soul confine?
A painter, critic, engineer, divine!




Ver. 126. Kneller amid, &c.] This is no more than a compliment to the vanity of Sir Godfrey, which Pope and other wits were always putting to the strongest trials. "Sir Godfrey," says Pope, "I believe if God Almighty had had your assistance, the world would have been formed more perfect." "Fore God," says Kneller, "I believe so." He was frequently (as Mr. Walpole observes) very free and singular in his conversation on religion. This adulation of Pope, Addison, Prior, &c. appears to have heightened his natural absurdities, as he had not discernment enough to discover that they were only soothing him to paint for them gratis, or diverting themselves at the expense of his cre

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