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THE LOOKING-GLASS.

ON MRS. PULTENEY 1

With scornful mien, and various toss of air,
Fantastic, vain, and insolently fair,
Grandeur intoxicates her giddy brain,
She looks ambition, and she moves disdain.
Far other carriage graced her virgin life,
But charming Gumley's lost in Pulteney's wife.
Not greater arrogance in him we find,
And this conjunction swells at least her mind:
O could the sire, renowned in glass, produce
One faithful mirror for his daughter's use!
Wherein she might her haughty errors trace,
And by reflection learn to mend her face:
The wonted sweetness to her form restore,
Be what she was, and charm.mankind once more!

LINES SUNG BY DURASTANTI: WHEN SHE

TOOK LEAVE OF THE ENGLISH STAGE.

THE WORDS WERE IN HASTE PUT TOGETHER BY MR. POPE, AT THE

REQUEST OF THE EARL OF PETERBOROUGH.

GENEROUS, gay, and gallant nation,

Bold in arms, and bright in arts;
Land secure from all invasion,

All but Cupid's gentle darts !
From your charms, oh who would run?
Who would leave you for the sun ?

Adieu, happy soil, adieu.

1 Anna Maria Gumley, daughter of John Gumley of Isleworth, was married to Pulteney, who received with her a large fortune.-Bowles.

2 Her father made his fortune from a glass manufactory.-Bowles.

3 She was brought to England by Handel, to sing at the opera, 1721, and was so great a favourite at Court, that the king stood godfather to one of her children.-Bowles.

Let old charmers yield to new;

In arms, in arts, be still more shining;
All your joys be still increasing;

All your tastes be still refining;
All your jars forever ceasing,

But let old charmers yield to new:-
Happy soil, adieu, adieu!

OCCASIONED BY SOME VERSES OF HIS

GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.

MUSE, 'tis enough: at length thy labour ends,
And thou shalt live, for BUCKINGHAM commends.
Let crowds of critics now my verse assail,
Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail:
This more than pays whole years of thankless pain,
Time, health, and fortune are not lost in vain.
SHEFFIELD approves, consenting Phoebus bends,
And I and Malice from this hour are friends.

ON MRS. TOFTS. So bright is thy beauty, so charming thy song, As had drawn both the beasts and their Orpheus

along; But such is thy avarice, and such is thy pride, That the beasts must have starved, and the poet ON HIS GROTTO' AT TWICKENHAM. COMPOSED OF MARBLES, SPARS, GEMS, ORES, AND MINERALS. Thou who shalt stop, where Thames' translucent wave Shines a broad mirror through the shadowy cave; Where ling’ring drops from min'ral roofs distill, And pointed crystals break the sparkling rill, Unpolished gems no ray on pride bestow, And latent metals innocently glow: Approach! Great Nature studiously behold; And eye the mine without a wish for gold. Approach; but awful! Lo! the Egerian grot, Where, nobly-pensive, St. John’ sate and thought; Where British sighs from dying Wyndham · stole, And the bright flame was shot through Marchmont's

have died.

1 This epigram is ascribed to Pope by Sir John Hawkins, in his History of Music. She (Mrs. Tofts) was daughter of a person in Bishop Burnet's family. She lived during tho introduction of opera into this country, and sang with Nicolini, but as she knew no Italian she sang in English, and he in his own language. She was very proud and covetous.–From Johnson,

soul. Let such, such only tread this sacred floor, Who dare to love their country, and be poor.

EPIGRAM.
You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come,
Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.

[From the Miscellany.] IMPROMPTU TO LADY WINCHILSEA. OCCASIONED BY FOUR SATIRICAL VERSES ON WOMEN-WITS, IN THE

"RAPE OF THE LOCK.”
In vain you boast poetic names of yore,
And cite those Sapphos we admire no more:
Fate doomed the fall of every female wit;

But doomed it then, when first Ardelia writ. i The improving and finishing his grotto was the delight of his declining years. - Warburton.

2 Lord Bolingbroke. 3 Sir William Wyndham, a most noble and excellent man,

Of all examples by the world confessed,
I knew Ardelia could not quote the best;
Who, like her mistress on Britannia's throne,
Fights and subdues in quarrels not her own.
To write their praise you but in vain essay:
Even while you write you take that praise away;
Light to the stars the sun does thus restore,
But shines himself till they are seen no more.

ANSWER TO THE FOLLOWING QUESTION

OF MISS HOWE.

WHAT IS PRUDERY ?

'Tis a beldam,
Seen with wit and beauty seldom.
'Tis a fear that starts at shadows;
'Tis (no ’tisn't) like Miss Meadows.
'Tis à virgin hard of feature,
Old, and void of all good-nature:
Lean and fretful, would seem wise;
Yet plays the fool before she dies.
'Tis an ugly envious shrew,
That rails at dear Lepell and you.

[From the Miscellany.]

UMBRA.

CLOSE to the best known author Umbra sits, The constant index to all Button's wits. “Who's here?” cries Umbra: “ Only Johnson,”—

“Oh! Your slave,” and exit; but returns with Rowe:

1 One of the maids of honour to Queen Caroline.

2 Miss Meadows was remarkable, like Miss Lepell and Miss Bellenden, for her amiable character. They were maids of honour to Queen Caroline. Miss Lepell afterwards married Lord Hervey. Gay called her, “Youth's youngest daughter, sweet Lepell."

3 Supposed to be J. Moore Smyth, whom he describes as a shadow in the “Dunciad,”

“Dear Rowe, let's sit and talk of tragedies:”
Ere long Pope enters, and to Pope he flies.
Then up comes Steele: he turns upon his heel,
And in a moment fastens, upon Steele;
But cries as soon, “Dear Dick, I must be gone,
For, if I know his tread, here's Addison.”
Says Addison to Steele, “ 'Tis time to go;”
Pope to the closet steps aside with Rowe.
Poor Umbra left in this abandoned pickle,
E'en sets him down, and writes to honest Tickell.
Fool! 'tis in vain from wit to wit to roam;
Know, sense, like charity, begins at home.

VERBATIM FROM BOILEAU.

Un jour, dit un auteur, etc. ONCE (says an author, where, I need not say) Two trav’llers found an oyster in their way; Both fierce, both hungry; the dispute grew strong; While scale in hand Dame Justice pass'd along. Before her each with clamour pleads the laws, Explain'd the matter, and would win the cause. Dame Justice weighing long the doubtful right, Takes, opens, swallows it, before their sight. The cause of strife removed so rarely well, “There, take,” (says Justice), “ take ye each a shell. We thrive at Westminster on fools like you: 'Twas a fat oyster-Live in peace-Adieu.”

THE CHALLENGE.

A COURT BALLAD. To the tune of “To all you Ladies now at Land,” &c. By Dorset

1717.

To one fair lady out of court,

And two fair ladies in,

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