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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,
And, to complete her bliss, a fool for mate.
She glares in balls, front boxes, and the ring,
A vain, unquiet, glitt'ring, wretched thing!
Pride, pomp, and state but reach her outward part;
She sighs, and is no duchess at her heart.

But, madam, if the fates withstand, and you
Are destined Hymen's willing victim too;
Trust not too much your now resistless charms,
Those, age or sickness, soon or late disarms:
Good humour only teaches charms to last,
Still makes new conquests, and maintains the past;
Love, raised on beauty, will like that decay,
Our hearts may bear its slender chain a day;
As flow'ry bands in wantonness are worn,
A morning's pleasure, and at evening torn;
This binds in ties more easy, yet more strong,
The willing heart, and only holds it long.

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
Of lords, and earls, and dukes, and gartered knights,
While the spread fan o'ershades you closing eyes;
Then give one flirt, and all the vision flies.
Thus vanish sceptres, coronets, and balls,
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls !

So when your slave, at some dear idle time,
(Not plagued with headaches, or the want of rhyme)
Stands in the streets, abstracted from the crew,
And while he seems to study, thinks of you;
Just when his fancy points your sprightly eyes,
Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise,
Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite,
Streets, chairs, and coxcombs, rush upon my sight
Vexed to be still in town, I knit my brow,
Look sour, and hum a tune, as you may now. .

EPITAPHS.

His saltum accumulem donis, et fungar inani
Munere!

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,
ONE OF THE PRINCIPAL SECRETARIES OF STATE TO King William Ti
Who having resigned his place, died in his retirement at East-

hampsted in Berkshire, 1716.
A PLEASING form; a firm, yet cautious mind;
Sincere, though prudent: constant, yet resigned:
Honour unchanged, a principle profest,
Fixed to one side, but moderate to the rest:
An honest courtier, yet a patriot too;
Just to his prince, and to his country true:
Filled with the sense of age, the fire of youth,
A scorn of wrangling, yet a zeal for truth;

A gen'rous faith, from superstition free,
A love to peace, and hate of tyranny;
Such this man was; who now, from earth removed,
At length enjoys that liberty he loved.

III.—ON THE HON. SIMON HARCOURT,

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At the Church of Stanton-Harcourt in Oxfordshire, 1720.
To this sad shrine, whoe'er thou art! draw near;
Here lies the friend most loved, the son most dear;
Who ne'er knew joy, but friendship might divide,
Or gave his father grief but when he died.

How vain is reason, eloquence how weak!
If Pope must tell what Harcourt cannot speak.
Oh let thy once-loved friend inscribe thy stone,
And, with a father's sorrows, mix his own!

IV.—ON JAMES CRAGGS, ESQ.,

IN WESTMINSTER ABBEY..

JACOBUS CRAGGS,

REGI MAGNÆ BRITANNIÆ A SECRETIS

ET CONSILIIS SANCTIORIBUS.
PRINCIPIS PARITER AC POPULI AMOR ET DELICIÆ:

VIXIT TITULIS ET INVIDIA MAJOR
ANNOS, HEU PAUCOS, XXXV.

OB. FEB. XVI. MDCCXX.

STATESMAN, yet friend to truth! of soul sincere,
In action faithful, and in honour clear!
Who broke no promise, served no private end;
Who gained no title, and who lost no friend;
Ennobled by himself, by all approved;
Praised, wept, and honoured, by the muse he loved.

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