* EPITAPH.

7ELL then, poor Glies under ground!

WELL

So there's an end of honeft Jack.

So little juftice here he found,

"Tis ten to one he'll ne'er come back.

* EPIGRAM, on the toafts of the Kit-kat club.

Anno 1716.

WHENC E deathlefs kit-kat took its

Few critics can unriddle;

Some fay from pastry-cook it came,

And fome from cat and fiddle.

From no trim beaux its name it boasts,

Grey statesmen, or green wits;

But from this pell-mell pack of toafts
Of old cats and young kits.

name,

* To a LADY, with the Temple of Fame.

WHAT's fame with men, by cuftom of the nation

Is call'd in women only reputation:

About them both why keep we fuch a pother?
Part you with one, and I'll renounce the other.

5

* VERSES to be placed under the picture of ENGLAND'S ARCH POET; containing a complete catalogue of his works...

EE who ne'er was nor will be half read!

SEE

Who first fung Arthur †, then fung Alfred f; Prais'd great Eliza || in God's anger,

Till all true Englishmen cry'd, Hang her!

Two heroic poems in folio, twenty books.

Heroic poems in twelve books.

Heroic poems in folio, ten books.

Made William's virtues wipe the bare a

And hang'd up Marlb'rough in arras*:

Then hifs'd from earth, grew heav'nly quite;
Made ev'ry reader curfe the light † ; .
Maul'd human wit in one thick fatire ;
Next, in three books, funk human nature ||,
Undid creation **

at a jerk,

And of redemption †† made damn'd work.
Then took his mufe at once, and dipt her
Full in the middle of the Scripture:

What wonders there the man grown old did!
Sternhold himself he out-Sternholded:
Made David seem so mad and freakish,

All thought him just what thought King Achish.
No mortal read his Solomon ||||,

But judg'd R'oboam his own fon.
Mofes ***

he ferv'd as Mofes Pharaoh,

And Deborah as the Siferah;
Made +++ Jeremy full fore to cry,
And Job ‡‡ himself curfe God and die.

WHAT punishment all this must follow?
Shall Arthur ufe him like King Tollo?
Shall David as Uriah flay him?
Or dext'rous Deb'rah Siferah him?
Or fhall Eliza lay a plot

To treat him like her fifter Scot?

* Inftructions to Vanderbank, a tapestry weaver,

Hymn to the light.

Satire against wit.

Of the nature of man.

** Creation, a poem, in feven books.

tt The Redeemer, another heroic poem, in fix books.

Tranflation of all the Pfalms.

Canticles and Ecclefiaftes.

Paraphrafe of the canticles of Mofes and Deborah, &c.

+++ The Lamentations.

### The whole book of Job, a poem, in folio,

Shall William dub his better end * ?

Or Marlb'rough serve him like a friend?
No, none of these heav'n spare his life!
But fend him, honest Job, thy wife.

Dr SWIFT to Mr POPE, while he was writing the DUNCIAD.

POPE has the talent well to speak,

But not to reach the ear;

His loudest voice is low and weak,
The Dean too deaf to hear.

A while they on each other look,

Then diff'rent studies chufe;
The Dean fits plodding on a book,
Pope walks, and courts the muse.

Now backs of letters, tho' defign'd

For those who more will need 'em, Are fill'd with hints, and interlin'd,

Himself can hardly read 'em.

Each atom by some other ftruck,

All turns and motions tries:
Till in a lump together stuck,
Behold a poem rise :

Yet to the Dean his fhare allot;
He claims it by a canon;

That without which a thing is not,
Is caufa fine qua non.

Thus, Pope t, in vain

boast you

your

wit;

For, had our deaf divine

Kick him on the breech, not knight him on the shoulder.

A polite turn is given to this incident by Mr Pope, in his

letter to Dr Sheridan, in vol. iv. let. 127. p. 260.

Been for

your converfation fit,

You had not writ a line.

Of prelate thus for preaching fam'd
The fexton reafon'd well;

And juftly half the merit claim'd,

Because he rang the bell.

BOUNCE

TO FOP.

25

An epistle from a dog at Twickenham to a dog at court.

To thee, fweet fop, these lines I fend,

то

Who, tho' no spaniel, am a friend.

Tho' once my tail in wanton play
Now frisking this and then that way,
Chanc'd with a touch of juft the tip
To hurt your lady-lap dog-fhip:

Yet thence to think I'd bite your head off!
Sure Bounce is one you never read of.

Fop! you can dance, and make a leg,
Can fetch and carry, cringe and beg,
And (what's the top of all your tricks)
Can ftoop to pick up strings and flicks.
We country-dogs love nobler fport,
And scorn the pranks of dogs at court.
Fie, naughty Fop! where e'er you come,
To fart and pifs about the room,

-Inap!

To lay your head in ev'ry lap,
And, when they think not of you
The worst that envy or that fpite
E'er faid of me, is, I can bite;
That idle gypfies, rogues in rags,
Who poke at me, can make no brags ;
And that to towze fuch things as flutter,
To honest Bounce is bread and butter.

5

* 10

25

20

25

WHILE you, and ev'ry courtly fop, Fawn on the devil for a chop,

I've the humanity to hate

A butcher, tho' he brings me meat;

And, let me tell you, have a nose,
(Whatever flinking fops fuppofe),
That, under cloth of gold or tiffue,
Can smell a plaister, or an issue.

YOUR pilf'ring lord with fimple pride
May wear a pick-lock at his fide;
My master wants no key of state,
For Bounce can keep his house and gate.

WHEN all fuch dogs have had their days,
As knavish Pams, and fawning Trays;
When pamper'd Cupids, beastly Venis,
And motly, fquinting Harlequinis *,
Shall lick no more their ladies br-
But die of 'ooienefs, claps, or itch;
Fair Thames from either echoing shore
Shall hear and dread my manly roar.

SEE Bounce, like Berecynthia, crown'd
With thund'ring offspring all around;
Beneath, befide me, and at top,
A hundred fons, and not one fop!

BEFORE my children fet your beef,

30

35

45

Not one true Bounce will be a thief;
Not one without permiffion feed,
(Tho' fome of Jn's hungry breed):
But whatfoe'er the father's race,

50