In her alone I find whate'er

Beauties a country landscape grace :
No fhade fo lovely as her hair,
Nor plain fo fweet as in her face.
Lilies and roses there combine,
More beauteous than in flowery field;
Transparent is her skin so fine,

To this each crystal stream must yield.
Her voice more sweet than warbling found,
Though fung by nightingale or lark ;
Her eyes fuch luftre dart around,
Compar'd to them, the fun is dark.
Both light and vital heat they give;
Cherish'd by them, my love takes root,
From her kind looks does life receive,
Grows a fair plant, bears flowers and fruit.
Such fruit, I ween, did once deceive
The common parent of mankind,
And made tranfgrefs our mother Eve:
Poifon its core, though fair its rind.

Yet fo delicious is its taste,

I cannot from the bait abstain,
But to th' inchanting pleasure hafte,
Though I were fure 'twould end in pain.

CHASTE

CHASTE

FLORIME L

N°

Ere any farther I'll comply;

Oh, Sir! no man on earth that breathes
Had ever yet his hand so high!

Oh! take your fword, and pierce my heart,
Undaunted fee me meet the wound;
Oh! will you act a Tarquin's part?
A fecond Lucrece you have found.
Thus to the preffing Corydon,
Poor Florimel, unhappy maid!
Fearing by Love to be undone,
In broken dying accents faid.
Delia, who held the confcious door,
Infpir'd by truth and brandy, fmil'd.
Knowing that, fixteen months before,
Our Lucrece had her fecond child.

And, hark ye! Madam, cry'd the bawd,
None of your flights, your high-rope dodging;
Be civil here, or march abroad;

Oblige the Squire, or quit the lodging.

Oh! have I-Florimel went on—
Have I then loft my Delia's aid?
Where shall forfaken virtue run,
If by her friend she is betray'd?

Oh!

Oh! curfe on empty friendship's name!

Lord, what is all our future view!
Then, dear deftroyer of my fame,
Let my last fuccour be to you!

From Delia's rage, and Fortune's frown,
A wretched love-fick maid deliver;
Oh! tip me but another crown,

Dear Sir, and make me yours for ever.

DOCTORS

DIFFER,

WHEN Willis* of Ephraim heard Rochester†

preach,

Thus Bentley faid to him, I pr'ythee, dear brother, How lik'ft thou this fermon? 'tis out of my reach. His is one way, faid Willis, and ours is another. I care not for carping; but, this I can tell, We preach very fadly, if he preaches well.

MEEK

EPIGRA M‡.

EEK Francis lies here, friend: without stop orftay, As you value your peace, make the beft of your way. Though at prefent arrested by Death's caitiff paw, If he stirs, he may ftill have recourfe to the law.

*Bishop of Gloucester.

+ Bishop Atterbury.

See Atterbury's Letters, in Pope's Works, ed. 1751.

And in the King's-bench should a verdict be found,
That by livery and seisin his grave is his ground,
He will claim to himself what is ftrictly his due,
And an action of trefpafs will ftraightway enfue,
That you without right on his premises tread,
On a fimple furmise that the owner is dead.

ON BISHOP ATTERBURY'S BURYING THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM, 1720.

"I HAVE no hopes," the Duke he fays, and dies;

"In fure and certain hopes," the Prelate cries: Of thefe two learned peers, I pr'ythee, fay, man, Who is the lying knave, the priest, or layman? The Duke he ftands an infidel confeft,

"He's our dear brother," quoth the lordly Prieft. The Duke, though knave, ftill "Brother dear," he cries;

And who can say the reverend Prelate lies?

UPON

HONOUR.

A FRAGMENT.

HONOUR, I fay, or honeft fame,

I mean the substance, not the name ;
(Not that light heap of taudry wares,
Of ermine, coronets, and ftars,
Which often is by merit fought,
By gold and flattery oftener bought;

The

*

The fhade, for which Ambition looks
In Selden's or in Afhmole's + books)
But the true glory, which proceeds,
Reflected bright, from honeft deeds,
Which we in our own breast perceive,
And Kings can neither take nor give.

E NIG

M

A

BY

ON PAM A T L 0.0.

Y birth I'm a flave, yet can give you a crown, I difpofe of all honours, myself having none; I'm oblig'd by just maxims to govern my life, Yet I hang my own mafter, and lie with his wife. When men are a-gaming, I cunningly fneak, And their cudgels and fhovels away from them take. Fair maidens and ladies I by the hand get, And pick off their diamonds, though ne'er fo well fet. For when I have comrades we rob in whole bands, Then presently take off your lands from your hands. But, this fury once over, I've fuch winning arts, That you love me much more than you do your own

hearts.

A NOT H E R.

FORM'D half beneath, and half above the earth,

We fifters owe to art our fecond birth;
The fmith's and carpenter's adopted daughters,
Made on the land, to travel on the waters.

*Titles of Honour.

+ Order of the Garter.

Swifter