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The Gods, to curse Pamela with her prayers, Gave the gilt coach and dappled Flanders mares,
The shining robes, rich jewels, beds of state,
But, madam, if the fates withstand, and you
Thus Voiture's early care still shone the same, And Montausiero was only changed in name: By this, even now they live, even now they charm, Their wit still sparkling, and their flames still warm.
Now crowned with myrtle, on the Elysian coast, Amid those lovers, joys his gentle ghost: Pleased, while with smiles his happy lines you view, And finds a fairer Rambouillet in you. The brightest eyes of France inspires his muse: The brightest eyes of Britain now peruse; And dead, as living, 'tis the author's pride Still to charm those who charm the world beside.
1 Mademoiselle Paulet.- Pope.
2 Madame de Montausier, wife of the Duke de Montausier, was the beautiful daughter of Madame de Ramboüillet, whose salons were celebrated in France. Voit'ıre was one of her intimate friends, and presided at these literary reunions, where the wits of the age assem bled,
EPISTLE TO THE SAME, ON HER LEAVING THE TOWN AFTER THE CORONATION. As some fond virgin, whom her mother's care Drags from the town to wholesome country air, Just when she learns to roll a melting eye, And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh: From the dear man unwilling she must sever, Yet takes one kiss before she parts for ever: Thus from the world fair Zephalinda? flew, Saw others happy, and with sighs withdrew; Not that their pleasures caused her discontent, She sighed not that they stayed, but that she went.
She went, to plain-work, and to purling brooks, Old fashioned halls, dull aunts, and croaking rooks ; She went from op'ra, park, assembly, play, To morning-walks, and pray’rs three hours a day; To part her time 'twixt reading and bohea; To muse, and spill her solitary tea; Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon, Count the slow clock, and dine exact at noon; Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire, Hum half a tune, tell stories to the squire; Up to her godly garret after sev’n, There starve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n.
Some squire, perhaps you take delight to rack; Whose game is whisk,' whose treat a toast in sack; Who visits with a gun, presents you birds, Then gives a smacking buss, and cries,—“No words !” Or with his hound comes hallooing from the stable, Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table, Whose laughs are hearty, though his jest are coarse, And loves you best of all things—but his horse.*
In some fair ev’ning, on your elbow laid, You dream of triumphs in the rural shade: In pensive thought recall the fancied scene, See coronations rise on ev'ry green;
i or King George the First, 1715.
2 The assumed name of Theresa Blount, under which she corres. ponded for many years with the Mr. Moore of the Dunciad, under the feigned name of Alexis. Martha was called Parthenia,- Bowles. Whist.
* See Locksley Hall,
Before you pass th’ imaginary sights
So when your slave, at some dear idle time,
His saltum accumulem donis, et fungar inani
Virg. Æn. vii. VV. 885, 6.
I.-ON CHARLES EARL OF DORSET.
IN THE CHURCH OF WITHYAM IN SUBSEX (1706). DORSET, the grace of the courts, the Muses' pride, Patron of arts, and judge of nature, died. The scourge of pride, though sanctified or great, Of fops in learning, and of knaves in state: Yet soft his nature, though severe his lay; His anger moral, and his wisdom gay. Blest satirist ! who touched the mean so true, And show'd, vice had his hate and pity too. Blest courtier! who could king and country please, Yet sacred keep his friendships, and his ease. Blest peer! his great forefathers' ev'ry grace Reflecting, and reflected in his race; Where other Buckhursts, other Dorsets shine, And patriots still, or poets, deck the line.
II.-ON SIR WILLIAM TRUMBULL,
hampsted in Berkshire, 1716.
A gen'rous faith, from superstition free,
III.—ON THE HON. SIMON HARCOURT,
At the Church of Stanton-Harcourt in Oxfordshire, 1720.
How vain is reason, eloquence how weak!
IV.—ON JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ.,
IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY..
REGI MAGNÆ BRITANNIÆ A SECRETIS
ET CONSILIIS SANCTIORIBUS.
VIXIT TITULIS ET INVIDIA MAJOR
OB. FEB. XVI. MDCCXX.
STATESMAN, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,