Extracts, Elegant, Instructive, and Entertaining, in Poetry

By POPE.

MUSE, 'tis enough; at length thy labour ends, And thou shalt live-for Buckingham commends.

Let crowds of critics now my verfe affail,
Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail:
This more than pays whole years of thanklefs pain,
Time, health, and fortune are not loft in vain.
Sheffield approves, confenting Phoebus bends,
And I and malice from this hour are friends.

To Mr. POPE.

DEPEND not upon verse for fame,

Tho' none can equal thine:

Our language never refts the fame; 'Twill rife, or 'twill decline.

Thy wreaths, in courfe of fleeting hours,
Too foon will be decay'd:

But ftory lafts, tho' modern flow'rs
Of poetry muft fade.

A furer way then wouldst thou find
Thy glory to prolong,

Whilst there remains amongst mankind
The fenfe of right and wrong?
Thy fame with nature's felf fhall end,
Let future times but know
That Atterbury was thy friend,
And Bentley was thy foe.

By Lord HERVEY. POSSESS'D of one great hall for state, Without one room to fleep or eat: How well you build, let flatt'ry tell, And all mankind how ill you dwell.

Written in a Window of the Tower, over the Name of R. Walpole, confined in the fame Room, Ann. Dem. 1712. LANSDOWNE.

GOOD unexpected, evil unforeseen,

Appears by turns, as Fortune shifts the scene: And fall fo hard, they bound and rife again. Some rais'd aloft come tumbling down amain;

Each rifing agony, each dreadful grace,
Yet warm tranfplanting to his Saviour's face.
O glorious theft! O nobly wicked draught!
With its full charge of death each feature fraught!

Such wondrous force the magic colours boast,
From his own skill he starts in horror lost.

On the Death of a Lady's Cat.

HARRISON. ND is Mifs Tabby from the world retir'd? A And are her lives, all her nine lives, expir'd? What founds fo moving, as her own, can tell How Tabby died, how full of play the fell? Begin, ye tuneful nine, a mournful strife, And ev'ry mufe thall celebrate a life.

SWIFT.

A Receipt for Courtship. TWO or three dears, and two or three fweets; Two or three balls, and two or three treats; Two or three ferenades, given as a lure; Two or three oaths how much they endure; Two or three metfages fent in one day; Two or three times led out from the play; Two or three foft fpeeches made by the way; Two or three tickets for two or three times; Two or three love-letters writ all in rhymes: Two or three months keeping ftrict to thefe rules Can never fail making a couple of fools.

By Lady M. W. MONTAGUE.

WHILST thirst of praife and vain defire of fame,
In ev'ry age, is ev'ry woman's aim ;
With courtship pleas'd, of filly toasters proud,
Fond of a train, and happy in a crowd;
On cach poor fool beftowing fome kind glance,
Each conqueft owing to fome loofe advance;
While vain coquets affect to be pursued,
And think they're virtuous, if not grofsly lewd;
Let this great maxim be my virtue's guide-
In part the is to blame that has been tried;
He comes too near, that comes to be denied.

To Mr. Addifon, on bis Tragedy of Cato. THE mind to virtue is by verfe fubdued, And the true poet is a public good. This Britain feels; while, by your lines infpir'd, Her free-born fons to glorious thoughts are fir'd. In Rome had you efpous'd the vanquifh'd caufe, Inflam'd her fenate, and upheld her laws, Your manly fcenes had liberty reftor'd, And given the just fuccels to Cate's fword.

By Dr. KENRICK. THE great, good man, whom Fortune will dife place,

May into fcarceness fall, but not disgrace.
His facred perfon none will dare profane;
He may be poor, but never can be mean.
He holds his value with the wife and good,
And proftrate feems as great as when he stood.
So ruin'd temples holy awe difpenfe,

They lofe their height, but keep their reverence;
The pious crowd the piles tho' fallen deplore,
And what they fail to raise they still adore.

A Flower by Varelft. WHEN fam'd Varelft this little wonder drew, Flora vouchfaf'd the growing work to view. Finding the painter's science at a stand, The Goddefs fnatch'd the pencil from his hand Behold one work of mine that ne'er shall fade. And finishing the piece, the fmiling faid:

By Sir SAM. GARTH. CAN you count the filver lights

That deck the skics, and cheer the nights; Or the leaves that strew the vales, When groves are stript by winter gales; Or the drops that in the morn Hang with tranfparent pearl the thorn; Or bridegroom's joys, or mifer's cares, Or gamefter's oaths, or hermit's prayers; Or envy's pangs, or love's alarms, Or Marlbro's acts, or Molly's charms?

By AARON HILL.
HOW is the world deceiv'd by noife and fhow!
Alas! how diff'rent, to pretend and know!
Like a poor highway brook, pretence runs loud:
Buftling, but fhallow, dirty, weak, and proud.
While like fome nobler ftream true knowledge
glides,

Silently strong, and its deep bottom hides.

The Royal Knotter. Sir CH. SEDLEY, AH, happy people! ye muft thrive,

While thus the royal pair does ftrive Both to advance your glory; While he by 's valour conquers France, She manufactures does advance,

And makes thread-fringes for ye. Bleft we! who from fuch queens are freed, Who, by vain fuperftition led,

Are always telling beads:

But here's a queen now, thanks to God,
Who, when the rides in coach abroad,
Is always knotting threads.
Then hafte, victorious Naffau, hafte;
And when thy fummer fhow is past,

Let all thy trumpets found:

The fringe which this campaign has wrought,
Thought coft the nation fcarce a groat,
Thy conquefts will furround.

What's Honour?

NOT to be captious, not unjustly fight;
'Tis to confef's what's wrong, and do what's

right.

Verfes occafioned by Mr. Aikman's Death.
THOMSON.

AS thofe we love decay, we die in part,

String after ftring is fever'd from the heart; Till loofen'd life, at laft but breathing clay, Without one pang is glad to fall away.

ACK his own merit fees. This gives him pride, Unhappy he who latest feels the blow,

That he fees more than all the world befide.

Dean Swift's Curate.

MARCH'D three miles thro' fcorching fand,
With zeal in heart, and notes in hand;

I rode four more to great St. Mary;
Ufing four legs, when two were weary.
To three fair virgins I did tie men,
In the close bands of pleafing Hymen;
1 dipt two babes in holy water,
And purified their mothers after.
Within an hour and eke an half,

I preach'd three congregations deaf,

While thund'ring out with lungs long-winded,

I chopt fo faft, that few there minded.

My emblem, the laborious fun,

Saw all thefe mighty labours done,

Before one race of his was run:

Whole eyes have wept o'er ev'ry friend laid low,
Dragg'd ling'ring on from partial death to death,
Till, dying, all he can refign is breath.

To the Reverend Mr. Murdoch, Reftor of Strad
difball, in Suffolk.
THOMSON.
THUS fafely low, my friend, thou canst not fall;
Here reigns a deep tranquillity o'er all;
No noife, no care, no vanity, no ftrife;
Men, woods, and fields, all breathe untroubled life:
Then keep each paffion down, however dear;
Truft me, the tender are the most severe.
Guard, while 'tis thine, thy philofophic ease,
And atk no joy but that of virtuous peace;
That bids defiance to the ftorms of fate :
High blifs is only for a higher ftate.

Epigram by Dr. DODDRIDGE, on bis Motto, Both gifts deftructive to the givers prove,

Alike both lovers fall by thofe they love:
Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,
At random wounds, nor knows the wound fl
gives:

She views the ftory with attentive eyes,
And pities Procris, while her lover dies.

ONE day in Chelsea meadows walking,
Of poetry and fuch things talking,
Says Ralph, a merry wag-
An epigram, if fmart and good,
In all its circumftances fhould
Be like a jelly-bag.

Your fimile, I own, is new;
But how wilt make it out? fays Hugh.
Make it at top both wide, and fit
Quoth Ralph, I'll tell thee, friend:
To hold a budget full of wit,

And point it at the end.

By Mrs. PILKINGTON.
STELLA and Flavia ev'ry hour
Unnumber'd hearts surprise;
In Stella's foul lies all her pow'r,
And Flavia's in her eyes.
More boundlefs Flavia's conquefts are,
And Stella's more confin'd;

All can difcern a face that's fair,
But few a lovely mind.
Stella like Britain's monarch reigns
O'er cultivated lands;
Like Eastern tyrants Flavia deigns

To rule o'er barren fands.
Then boaft, fair Flavia, bost your face,
Your beauty's only store:

Each day that makes thy charms decrease Will give to Stella morc.

To Mr. Pope, on his Dunciad. THE raven, rook, and pert jackdaw,

Tho' neither birds of moral kind, Yet ferve, if hang'd, or stuff'd with straw, To fhew us which way blows the wind. Thus dirty knaves, or chatt'ring fools,

Strung up by dozens in thy lay, Teach more by half than Dennis' rules, And point inftruction ev'ry way. With Egypt's art thy pen may ftrive, One potent drop let this but fhed, And ev'ry rogue that stunk alive Becomes a precious mummy dead.

TREASON does never profper: what's the reafon ? Why, when it profpers, none dare call it treason.

CURIO's rich fideboard feldom fees the light,

Clean is his kitchen, and his fpits are bright; His knives and forks, all rang'd in even rows, No hand molefts, no fervants discompose: A curious jack, hung up to please the eye, For ever ftill, whofe flyers-never fly :

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Extracts, Elegant, Instructive, and Entertaining, in Poetry, Svazek 1