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Shall William dub his better end *?
Or Marlb'rough serve him like a friend?
No, none of these -heav'n spare his life!
But send 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.

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A while they on each other look,

Then diff'rent studies chuse; 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.

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Each atom by some other struck,

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

rise :
Yet to the Dean his share allot ;

He claims it by a canon ;
That without which a thing is not,

Is causa fine qua non.

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Thus, Pope t, in vain you boast 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. 200.

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An epistle from a dog at Twickenham to a:

dog at court. T thee

, sweet fop, these lines I send,
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 just the tip

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To hurt your lady-lap dog-ship :
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,

10 And (what's the top of all your tricks) Can stoop to pick up strings and sticks. We country-dogs love nobler sport, And scorn the pranks of dogs at court. Fie, naughty Fop ! where e'er you come, 15 To fart and piss aboat the room, To lay your head in ev'ry lap, And, when they think not of you-snap! The worst that envy or that spite E'er faid of me, is, I can bite ;

20 That idle gypsies, rogues in rags, Who poke at me, can make no brags ; And that to towze such things as flutter, To honeft Bounce is bread and butter.

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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 stinking fops fuppose),
That, under cloth of gold or tissue,
Can smell a plaister, or an iffue.

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

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

See Bounce, like Berecynthia, crown'd
With thund'ring offspring all around ;
Beneath, beside me, and at top,
A bundred sons, and not one fop!

Berore my children set your beef,
Not one true Bounce will be a thief ;
Not one without permission feed,
(Tho' some of J--n's hungry breed):
But whatfoe'er the father's race,
From me they fuc
While

your fine whelps learn all to steal, Bred up by hand on chick and veal.

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a little grace :

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Alii legunt Harveqalmis.

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!

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My eldei bora refides nor fai,
Where thines great Stratford's glitering far:
My second (child of fortune!) wais
At Burlington's Palladian gates :

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A third majestically stalks
(Happieft of dogs !) in Cobham's walks:
One others friends to Bathurit's door ;
One fawns at Oxfori's on the poor.

Nobles whom arms or arts adorn,
Wait for my infants yet unborn.
None but a peer of wit and grace
Cân hope a puppy of my race.

And O! would fate the bliss decree
To mine (a bliss too great for me !)
That two my tallest sons might grace,
Attending each with stately pace,
lülus' side, as erit Evander's t,
To keep off flatt'rers, spies, and panders,
To let no noble ilave come near,

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And scarce Lord Fannys from his ear :
Then might a royal youth, and true,
Enjoy at least a friend ---- or two ;
A treasure which of royal kind
Few but himself deserve to find.

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Then Bounce ('tis all that Bounce can crave)
Shail wag her tail within the grave.
* On the Countess of BURLINGTON

cutting PAPER.
PALLAS grew vap'rish once and odd ;

She would not do the least right thing,
Either for goddess or for god,

Nor work, nor play, nor paint, nor fog.

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# Virg. An. ,

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Jove frown’d, and " Use” (he cry'd) “ those eyes

“ So skilful, and those hands fo taper ; “Do something exquisite and wise"

She bow'd, obey'd him, and cut paper. This vexing him who gave her birth,

Thought by all heav'n a burning shame, What does she next, but bids on earth

Her Burlington do just the same?

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Pallas, you give yourself strange airs ;

But sure you'll find it hard to spoil The sense and taste of one that bears.

The name of Savile and of Boyle.

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Alas! one bad example shown,

How quickly all the sex pursue !
See, Madam! see, the arts o'erthrown

Between John Overton and you.

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* On a certain LADY at court.

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Know the thing that's most uncommon,

(Envy, be filent, and attend!) I know a reasonable woman,

Handsome and witty, yet a friend.

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Not warp'd by passion, aw'd by rumour !

Not grave thro' pride, or gay thro' folly ; An equal mixture of good humour,

And fenfible soft melancholy.
· Has the no faults then,” (Envy fays) " Sir!"

Yes, she has one, I must aver :
When all the world conspires to praise her,

The woman's deaf, and does not hear.

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To

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