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Gloomy Pluto! king of terrors,
Mournful cypress, verdant willow,
Melancholy smooth Meander
Swiftly purling in a round,
Thus when Philomela, drooping,
A CERTAIN LADY AT COURT.
I KNOW the thing that's most uncommon;
I know a reasonable woman,
Not warp'd by passion, awed by rumour,
An equal mixture of good humour,
And sensible soft melancholy,
Has she not faults then, (Envy says) sir?'
GROTTO AT TWICKENHAM,
COMPOSED OF MARBLES, SPARS, GEMS, ORES, AND
THOU who shalt stop where Thames' translucent
Shines a broad mirror through the shady cave;
Let such, such only, tread this sacred floor,
YES, I beheld the' Athenian queen
' And take, (she said, and smiled serene)
This golden lance shall guard desert,
This steel shall stab it to the heart.' Awed, on my bended knees I fell,
Received the weapons of the sky, And dipp'd them in the sable well,
The fount of fame or infamy.
ON RECEIVING FROM THE RIGHT HON.
THE LADY FRANCES SHIRLEY
A STANDISH AND TWO PENS'.
What well? what weapon? (Flavia cries)
But, friend! take heed whom you attack; You'll bring a house (I mean of peers) Red, blue, and green, nay, white and black, L** and all about your ears.
You'd write as smooth again on glass,
As not to stick at fool or ass,
1 These lines were occasioned by the poet's being threatened with a prosecution in the House of Lords, for writing the Epilogue to Dr. Donne's Satires.
Athenian queen! and sober charms! I tell ye, fool! there's nothing in't: 'Tis Venus, Venus gives these arms;— In Dryden's Virgil see the print.
Come, if you'll be a quiet soul,
Of those that sing of these poor eyes.'
LADY MARY WORTLEY MONTAGUE'.
IN beauty or wit,
To question your empire has dared;
Have thought that, in learning,
To yield to a lady was hard.
Impertinent schools, With musty dull rules, Have reading to females denied:
So papists refuse
The Bible to use,
Lest flocks should be wise as their guide.
1 This panegyric on Lady Mary Wortley Montague might have been suppressed by Mr. Pope, on account of her having satirized him in her Verses to the Imitator of Horace; which abuse he returned in the first Satire of the second book of Horace:
From furious Sappho, scarce a milder fate,
"Twas a woman at first,
In knowledge that tasted delight,
The laws should decree
To the first of possessors the right.
Which to your whole sex does belong;
From a second bright Eve,
When only one apple had she,
Who, tasting, have robb'd the whole tree?
TO THE AUTHOR
OF A PANEGYRIC ON MRS. GRACE BUTLER, WHO DIED, AGED 86.
[The Spirit of Mrs. Butler is supposed to speak.] STRIPP'D to the naked soul, escaped from clay, From doubts unfetter'd, and dissolved in day; Unarm'd by vanity; unreach'd by strife; And all my hopes and fears thrown off by life; Why am I charm'd by friendship's fond essays, And, though unbodied, conscious of thy praise? Has pride a portion in the parted soul? Does passion still the formless mind control?