So, Ireland, change thy tone,
And cry, O hone! O hone!
For England hath its own.
On Seeing the Ladies at Crux Easton Walk in the Woods by the Grotto
Extempore by Mr. Pope
AUTHORS the world and their dull brains have traced
To fix the ground where Paradise was placed;
Mind not their learned whims and idle talk;
Here, here ‘s the place where these bright angels walk.
Inscription on a Grotto, the Work of Nine Ladies
HERE, shunning idleness at once and praise,
This radiant pile nine rural sisters raise;
The glitt’ring emblem of each spotless dame,
Clear as her soul and shining as her frame;
Beauty which Nature only can impart, 5
And such a polish as disgraces Art;
But Fate disposed them in this humble sort,
And hid in deserts what would charm a Court.
To the Right Hon. the Earl of Oxford
Upon a Piece of News in Mist [Mist’s Journal] That the Rev. Mr. W. Refused to Write against Mr. Pope Because His Best Patron Had a Friendship for the Said Pope
WESLEY, if Wesley ‘t is they mean,
They say on Pope would fall,
Would his best Patron let his Pen
Discharge his inward gall.
What Patron this, a doubt must be, 5
Which none but you can clear,
Or father Francis, ‘cross the sea,
Or else Earl Edward here.
That both were good must be confess’d,
And much to both he owes; 10
But which to him will be the best
The Lord of Oxford knows.
EPIGRAMS AND EPITAPHS
CONTENTS
On a Picture of Queen Caroline
Epigram Engraved on the Collar of a Dog Which I Gave to His Royal Highness
Lines Written in Evelyn’s Book on Coins
Epigram (“Did Milton’s prose”)
Epigram (“Should D[enni]s print”)
Mr. J. M. S[myth]e
Epigram on Mr. M[oo]re’s Going to Law with Mr. Giliver
Epigram (“A gold watch found”)
Epitaph on James Moore-Smythe
A Question by Anonymous
Epigram (“Great G[eorge]”)
Epigram (“Behold! ambitious”)
On Charles, Earl of Dorset
On Sir William Trumbull
On the Hon. Simon Harcourt
On James Craggs, Esq.
On Mr. Rowe
On Mrs. Corbet
On the Monument of the Hon. R. Digby and of His Sister Mary
On Sir Godfrey Kneller
On General Henry Withers
On Mr. Elijah Fenton
On Mr. Gay
Intended for Sir Isaac Newton
On Dr. Francis Atterbury
On Edmund, Duke of Buckingham
For One Who Would Not Be Buried in Westminster Abbey
Another on the Same
On Two Lovers Struck Dead by Lightning
On John Gay
On a Picture of Queen Caroline
Drawn by Lady Burlington
It is not known who the Bishop was. The ‘lying Dean’ refers to Dr. Alured Clarke, who preached a fulsome sermon upon the Queen’s death.
PEACE, flatt’ring Bishop! lying Dean!
This portrait only paints the Queen!
Epigram Engraved on the Collar of a Dog Which I Gave to His Royal Highness
‘His Highness’ was Frederick, Prince of Wales.
I AM his Highness’ dog at Kew;
Pray tell me, Sir, whose dog are you?
Lines Written in Evelyn’s Book on Coins
First printed in the Gentleman’s Magazine in 1735.
TOM WOOD of Chiswick, deep divine,
To Painter Kent gave all this coin.
‘T is the first coin, I ‘m bold to say,
That ever churchman gave to lay.
Epigram (“Did Milton’s prose”)
This Journal was established in January, 1730, and carried on for eight years by Pope and his friends, in answer to the attacks provoked by the Dunciad. It corresponds in some measure to the Xenien of Goethe and Schiller. Only such pieces are here inserted as bear Pope’s distinguishing signature A.; several others are probably his. (Ward.)
Occasioned by seeing some sheets of Dr. Bentley’s edition of Milton’s Paradise Lost.
DID Milton’s prose, O Charles, thy death defend?
A furious Foe unconscious proves a Friend.
On Milton’s verse does Bentley comment? — Know
A weak officious Friend becomes a Foe.
While he but sought his Author’s fame to further, 5
The murd’rous critic has avenged thy murder.
Epigram (“Should D[enni]s print”)
SHOULD D[enni]s print, how once you robb’d your brother,
Traduced your monarch, and debauch’d your mother;
Say, what revenge on D[enni]s can be had;
Too dull for laughter, for reply too mad?
Of one so poor you cannot take the law; 5
On one so old your sword you scorn to draw.
Uncaged then let the harmless monster rage,
Secure in dulness, madness, want, and age.
Mr. J. M. S[myth]e
Catechised on His One Epistle to Mr. Pope
WHAT makes you write at this odd rate?
Why, Sir, it is to imitate.
What makes you steal and trifle so?
Why, ‘t is to do as others do.
But there ‘s no meaning to be seen. 5
Why, that ‘s the very thing I mean.
Epigram on Mr. M[oo]re’s Going to Law with Mr. Giliver
Inscribed to Attorney Tibbald
ONCE in his life M[oo]re judges right:
His sword and pen not worth a straw,
An author that could never write,
A gentleman that dares not fight,
Has but one way to tease — by law. 5
This suit, dear Tibbald, kindly hatch;
Thus thou may’st help the sneaking elf;
And sure a printer is his match,
Who ‘s but a publisher himself.
Epigram (“A gold watch found”)
A GOLD watch found on cinder whore,
Or a good verse on J[emm]y M[oor]e,
Proves but what either should conceal,
Not that they ‘re rich, but that they steal.
Epitaph on James Moore-Smythe
HERE lies what had nor birth, nor shape, nor fame;
No gentleman! no man! no-thing! no name!
For Jamie ne’er grew James; and what they call
More, shrunk to Smith — and Smith’s no name at all.
Yet die thou can’st not, phantom, oddly fated: 5
For how can no-thing be annihilated?
A Question by Anonymous
TELL, if you can, which did the worse,
Caligula or Gr[afto]n’s Gr[a]ce?
That made a Consul of a horse,
And this a Laureate of an ass.
Epigram (“Great G[eorge]”)
The sting of this epigram was for Cibber, then Poet Laureate.
GREAT G[eorge] such servants since thou well canst lack,
Oh! save the salary, and drink the sack.
Epigram (“Behold! ambitious”)
BEHOLD! ambitious of the British bays,
Cibber and Duck contend in rival lays,
But, gentle Colley, should thy verse prevail,
Thou hast no fence, alas! against his flail:
Therefore thy claim resign, allow his right: 5
For Duck can thresh, you know, as well as write.
On Charles, Earl of Dorset
His saltem accumulem donis, et fungar inani Munere!
VIRG. [Æn. vii. 885.]
In the Church of Withyam, Sussex
; DORSET, the Grace of Courts, the Muses’ Pride,
Patron of Arts, and Judge of Nature, died.
The scourge of Pride, tho’ sanctified or great,
Of Fops in Learning, and of Knaves in State:
Yet soft his Nature, tho’ severe his Lay, 5
His Anger moral, and his Wisdom gay.
Bless’d Satirist! who touch’d the mean so true,
As show’d, Vice had his hate and pity too.
Bless’d Courtier! who could King and Country please,
Yet sacred keep his Friendships and his Ease. 10
Bless’d 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.
On Sir William Trumbull
One of the Principal Secretaries of State to King William III
Who, having resigned his Place, died in his retirement at Easthamsted, in Berkshire, 1716.
A PLEASING Form, a firm, yet cautious Mind;
Sincere, tho’ prudent; constant, yet resign’d:
Honour unchanged, a Principle profest,
Fix’d to one side, but mod’rate to the rest:
An honest Courtier, yet a Patriot too, 5
Just to his Prince, and to his Country true:
Fill’d 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; 10
Such this Man was, who now, from earth remov’d,
At length enjoys that Liberty he lov’d.
On the Hon. Simon Harcourt
Only Son of the Lord Chancellor Harcourt
At the Church of Stanton-Harcourt, Oxfordshire, 1720.
TO this sad shrine, whoe’er thou art, draw near;
Here lies the Friend most lov’d, 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! 5
If Pope must tell what Harcourt cannot speak.
Oh, let thy once-lov’d friend inscribe thy stone,
And with a father’s sorrows mix his own!
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. XIV. 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 gain’d no Title, and who lost no Friend;
Ennobled by himself, by all approv’d, 5
Prais’d, wept, and honour’d, by the Muse he lov’d.
On Mr. Rowe
In Westminster Abbey
THY reliques, ROWE! to this sad shrine we trust,
And near thy Shakspeare place thy honour’d bust,
Oh, next him, skill’d to draw the tender tear —
For never heart felt passion more sincere —
To nobler sentiment to fire the brave — 5
For never Briton more disdain’d a slave!
Peace to thy gentle shade, and endless rest;
Blest in thy Genius, in thy Love too blest!
And blest, that timely from our scene remov’d,
Thy soul enjoys the Liberty it lov’d. 10
To these, so mourn’d in death, so lov’d in life,
The childless parent and the widow’d wife
With tears inscribes this monumental stone,
That holds their ashes and expects her own.
On Mrs. Corbet
Who Died of a Cancer in Her Breast
HERE rests a Woman, good without pretence,
Bless’d with plain Reason and with sober Sense:
No Conquests she but o’er herself desired,
No Arts essay’d but not to be admired.
Passion and Pride were to her soul unknown, 5
Convinc’d that Virtue only is our own.
So unaffected, so composed, a mind,
So firm, yet soft, so strong, yet so refin’d,
Heav’n, as its purest gold, by Tortures tried:
The Saint sustain’d it, but the Woman died. 10
On the Monument of the Hon. R. Digby and of His Sister Mary
Erected by Their Father, Lord Digby, in the Church of Sherborne, in Dorsetshire, 1727.
GO! fair example of untainted youth,
Of modest Wisdom and pacific Truth:
Composed in Suff’rings, and in Joy sedate,
Good without noise, without pretension great:
Just of thy word, in ev’ry thought sincere, 5
Who knew no wish but what the world might hear:
Of softest Manners, unaffected Mind,
Lover of Peace, and Friend of humankind!
Go live! for Heav’n’s eternal year is thine;
Go, and exalt thy Mortal to Divine. 10
And thou, bless’d Maid! attendant on his doom,
Pensive hath follow’d to the silent Tomb,
Steer’d the same course to the same quiet shore,
Not parted long, and now to part no more!
Go then, where only bliss sincere is known! 15
Go where to love and to enjoy are one!
Yet take these tears, mortality’s relief,
And till we share your joys, forgive our grief:
These little rites, a Stone, a Verse, receive;
‘T is all a Father, all a Friend can give! 20
On Sir Godfrey Kneller
In Westminster Abbey, 1723
KNELLER, by Heav’n, and not a master, taught,
Whose Art was Nature, and whose pictures thought;
Now for two ages having snatch’d from fate
Whate’er was beauteous, or whate’er was great,
Lies crown’d with Princes’ honours, Poets’ lays, 5
Due to his Merit and brave thirst of Praise.
Living, great Nature fear’d he might outvie
Her works; and, dying, fears herself may die.
On General Henry Withers
In Westminster Abbey, 1729
HERE, WITHERS! rest; thou bravest, gentlest mind,
Thy Country’s friend, but more of Humankind.
O born to Arms! O Worth in youth approv’d!
O soft Humanity, in age belov’d!
For thee the hardy Vet’ran drops a tear, 5
And the gay Courtier feels the sigh sincere.
WITHERS, adieu! yet not with thee remove
Thy martial spirit or thy social love!
Amidst Corruption, Luxury, and Rage,
Still leave some ancient Virtues to our age; 10
Nor let us say (those English glories gone)
The last true Briton lies beneath this stone.
On Mr. Elijah Fenton
At Easthamstead, Berks, 1729
THIS modest stone, what few vain marbles can,
May truly say, Here lies an Honest Man;
A Poet bless’d beyond the Poet’s fate,
Whom Heav’n kept sacred from the proud and great;
Foe to loud Praise, and friend to learned Ease, 5
Content with Science in the vale of peace.
Calmly he look’d on either life, and here
Saw nothing to regret, or there to fear;
From Nature’s temp’rate feast rose satisfied,
Thank’d Heav’n that he had lived, and that he died. 10
On Mr. Gay
In Westminster Abbey, 1730
OF Manners gentle, of Affections mild;
In Wit a man; Simplicity a child:
With native Humour temp’ring virtuous Rage,
Form’d to delig
ht at once and lash the age:
Above temptation, in a low estate, 5
And uncorrupted ev’n among the Great:
A safe Companion, and an easy Friend,
Unblamed thro’ life, lamented in thy End.
These are thy Honours! not that here thy bust
Is mix’d with Heroes, or with Kings thy dust: 10
But that the Worthy and the Good shall say,
Striking their pensive bosoms—’Here lies GAY!’
Intended for Sir Isaac Newton
In Westminster Abbey
Isaacus Newtonus
Quem Immortalem Testantur Tempus, Natura, Cœlum: Mortalem Hoc Marmor Fatetur
NATURE and Nature’s laws lay hid in Night:
God said, Let NEWTON be! and all was Light.
On Dr. Francis Atterbury
Bishop of Rochester, Who Died in Exile at Paris, 1732
His only daughter having expired in his arms immediately after she arrived in France to see him.
DIALOGUE
She. YES, we have liv’d — One pang, and then we part!
May Heav’n, dear Father! now have all thy heart.
Yet ah! how once we lov’d, remember still,
Till you are dust like me.
He. Dear Shade! I will: 5
Then mix this dust with thine — O spotless Ghost!
O more than Fortune, Friends, or Country lost!
Is there on earth one care, one wish beside?
Yes—’Save my country, Heav’n!’ he said, and died.
On Edmund, Duke of Buckingham
Who Died in the Nineteenth Year of His Age, 1735
IF modest Youth, with cool Reflection crown’d,
And ev’ry opening Virtue blooming round,
Could save a Parent’s justest Pride from fate,
Or add one Patriot to a sinking state,
This weeping marble had not ask’d thy tear, 5
Or sadly told, how many hopes lie here!
The living Virtue now had shone approv’d;
The Senate heard him, and his country lov’d.
Yet softer honours and less noisy fame
Attend the shade of gentle BUCKINGHAM: 10
In whom a race, for Courage famed and Art,
Ends in the milder merit of the Heart;
And, Chiefs or Sages long to Britain giv’n,
Pays the last tribute of a Saint to Heav’n.
For One Who Would Not Be Buried in Westminster Abbey
Alexander Pope - Delphi Poets Series Page 29