That ev'ry hour your life renew In spite of fears, of mercy spite, My genius still must rail, and write. 30 There, half devour'd by spleen, you'll find 35 There (objects of our mutual hate) A Fragment, attributed by some to MR. POPE, and by others to MR. CONGREVE. It has, however, been seen in the hand-writing of the former. WHAT are the falling rills, the pendant shades, To sigh unheard in, to the passing wind! 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, But in thy roof, Argyle, are bred Such thoughts as prompt the brave to lie Such flames as high in patriots burn, THE CHALLENGE. A COURT BALLAD. To the Tune of "To all you Ladies now at Land," &c. I. To one fair lady out of court, And two fair ladies in, Who think the Turk* and Pope† a sport, And wit and love no sin ; Come, these soft lines, with nothing stiff in, To Bellenden, Lepell, and Griffin. With a fa, la, la. II. What passes in the dark third row, III. Then why to courts should I repair, NOTES. Ulrick, the little Turk. The Author. To hear 'em rail at honest Sunderland, And rashly blame the realm of Blunderland.* With a fa, la, la. IV. Alas! like Schutz I cannot pun, Like Grafton court the Germans; To court ambitious men may roam, V. In truth, by what I can discern, Perhaps, in time, you'll leave high diet, VI. At Leicester-Fields, a house full high, (A Milliner I mean;) There may you meet us three to three, For Gay can well make two of Me. With a fa, la, la. Ireland. |