With scornful mien, and various toss of air, Fantastic, vain, and insolently fair, Grandeur intoxicates her giddy brain, She looks ambition, and she moves disdain.

Far other carriage graced her virgin life, But charming Gumley's lost in Pulteney's wife.

Not greater arrogance in him we find, And this conjunction swells at least her mind: Oh could the sire, renown'd in glass, produce One faithful mirror for his daughter's use!

Wherein she might her haughty errors trace, And by reflection learn to mend her face: The wonted sweetness to her form restore, Be what she was, and charm mankind once more!

A FAREWELL TO LONDON

IN THE YEAR 1715.

1 Dear, damn'd, distracting town, farewell!

Thy fools no more I'll tease: This year in peace, ye critics, dwell, Ye harlots, sleep at ease!

2 Soft B----s and rough C----s, adieu!

Earl Warwick, make your moan, The lively H----k and you May knock up whores alone.

3 To drink and droll be Rowe allow'd Till the third watchman's toll; Let Jervas gratis paint, and Frowde Save threepence and his soul.

4 Farewell, Arbuthnot's raillery On every learned sot; And Garth, the best good Christian he, Although he knows it not.

5 Lintot, farewell! thy bard must go; Farewell, unhappy Tonson!

Heaven gives thee for thy loss of Rowe, Lean Philips and fat Johnson.

6 Why should I stay? Both parties rage; My vixen mistress squalls; The wits in envious feuds engage; And Homer (damn him!) calls.

7 The love of arts lies cold and dead In Halifax's urn; And not one Muse of all he fed Has yet the grace to mourn.

8 My friends, by turns, my friends confound, Betray, and are betray'd: Poor Y----r's sold for fifty pounds, And B----ll is a jade.

9 Why make I friendships with the great, When I no favour seek.

Or follow girls seven hours in eight?-- I need but once a week.

10 Still idle, with a busy air, Deep whimsies to contrive; The gayest valetudinaire, Most thinking rake alive.

11 Solicitous for others' ends, Though fond of dear repose; Careless or drowsy with my friends.

And frolic with my foes.

12 Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell, For sober studious days!

And Burlington's delicious meal, For salads, tarts, and pease!

13 Adieu to all but Gay alone, Whose soul, sincere and free, Loves all mankind, but flatters none, And so may starve with me.

SANDYS' GHOST;[82]

OR, A PROPER NEW BALLAD ON THE NEW OVID'S METAMORPHOSES: AS IT WAS INTENDED TO BE TRANSLATED BY PERSONS OF QUALITY.

1 Ye Lords and Commons, men of wit And pleasure about town, Read this, ere you translate one bit Of books of high renown.

2 Beware of Latin authors all!

Nor think your verses sterling, Though with a golden pen you scrawl, And scribble in a berlin:

3 For not the desk with silver nails, Nor bureau of expense, Nor standish well japann'd, avails To writing of good sense.

4 Hear how a ghost in dead of night, With saucer eyes of fire, In woeful wise did sore affright A wit and courtly squire.

5 Rare imp of Phoebus, hopeful youth!

Like puppy tame that uses To fetch and carry, in his mouth, The works of all the Muses.

6 Ah! why did he write poetry, That hereto was so civil; And sell his soul for vanity To rhyming and the devil?

7 A desk he had of curious work, With glittering studs about; Within the same did Sandys lurk, Though Ovid lay without.

8 Now, as he scratch'd to fetch up thought, Forth popp'd the sprite so thin, And from the keyhole bolted out, All upright as a pin.

9 With whiskers, band, and pantaloon, And ruff composed most duly, This squire he dropp'd his pen full soon, While as the light burnt bluely.

10 'Ho! Master Sam,' quoth Sandys' sprite, 'Write on, nor let me scare ye!

Forsooth, if rhymes fall not in right, To Budgell seek, or Carey.

11 'I hear the beat of Jacob's[83] drums, Poor Ovid finds no quarter!

See first the merry P----[84] comes In haste without his garter.

12 'Then lords and lordlings, squires and knights, Wits, witlings, prigs, and peers: Garth at St James's, and at White's Beats up for volunteers.

13 'What Fenton will not do, nor Gay, Nor Congreve, Rowe, nor Stanyan, Tom Burnet, or Tom D'Urfey may, John Dunton, Steele, or any one.

14 'If Justice Philips' costive head Some frigid rhymes disburses: They shall like Persian tales be read, And glad both babes and nurses.

15 'Let Warwick's Muse with Ashurst join, And Ozell's with Lord Hervey's, Tickell and Addison combine, And Pope translate with Jervas.

16 'L---- himself, that lively lord, Who bows to every lady, Shall join with F---- in one accord, And be like Tate and Brady.

17 'Ye ladies, too, draw forth your pen; I pray, where can the hurt lie?

Since you have brains as well as men, As witness Lady Wortley.

18 'Now, Tonson, list thy forces all, Review them, and tell noses: For to poor Ovid shall befall A strange metamorphosis;

19 'A metamorphosis more strange Than all his books can vapour'-- 'To what (quoth squire) shall Ovid change?'

Quoth Sandys, 'To waste paper.'

UMBRA.[85]

Close to the best known author Umbra sits, The constant index to old Button's wits, 'Who's here?' cries Umbra: 'Only Johnson.'[86]--'Oh!