2 Jove frown'd, and 'Use (he cried) those eyes So skilful, and those hands so taper; Do something exquisite and wise--'

She bow'd, obey'd him, and cut paper.

3 This vexing him who gave her birth, Thought by all heaven a burning shame; What does she next, but bids, on earth, Her Burlington do just the same.

4 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 Saville and of Boyle.

5 Alas! one bad example shown, How quickly all the sex pursue!

See, madam, see the arts o'erthrown Between John Overton and you!

ON DRAWINGS OF THE STATUES OF APOLLO, VENUS, AND HERCULES,

MADE FOR POPE BY SIR GODFREY KNELLER.

What god, what genius did the pencil move, When Kneller painted these?

'Twas friendship, warm as Phoebus, kind as Love, And strong as Hercules.

ON BENTLEY'S 'MILTON.'

Did Milton's prose, O Charles! thy death defend?

A furious foe unconscious proves a friend.

On Milton's verse did Bentley comment? Know, A weak officious friend becomes a foe.

While he but sought his author's fame to further, The murderous critic has avenged thy murther.

LINES

WRITTEN IN WINDSOR FOREST.

All hail, once pleasing, once inspiring shade, Scene of my youthful loves, and happier hours!

Where the kind Muses met me as I stray'd, And gently press'd my hand, and said, 'Be ours!-- Take all thou e'er shalt have, a constant Muse: At Court thou mayst be liked, but nothing gain; Stocks thou mayst buy and sell, but always lose; And love the brightest eyes, but love in vain.'

TO ERINNA.

Though sprightly Sappho force our love and praise, A softer wonder my pleased soul surveys, The mild Erinna, blushing in her bays.

So, while the sun's broad beam yet strikes the sight, All mild appears the moon's more sober light; Serene, in virgin majesty she shines, And, unobserved, the glaring sun declines.

A DIALOGUE.

POPE.

Since my old friend is grown so great, As to be Minister of State, I'm told, but 'tis not true, I hope, That Craggs will be ashamed of Pope.

CRAGGS.

Alas! if I am such a creature, To grow the worse for growing greater; Why, faith, in spite of all my brags, 'Tis Pope must be ashamed of Craggs.

ODE TO QUINBUS FLESTRIN,

THE MAN MOUNTAIN,[87] BY TITTY TIT, POET-LAUREATE TO HIS MAJESTY OF LILLIPUT. TRANSLATED INTO ENGLISH.

In amaze Lost I gaze!

Can our eyes Reach thy size!

May my lays Swell with praise, Worthy thee!

Worthy me!

Muse, inspire All thy fire! 10 Bards of old Of him told.

When they said Atlas' head Propp'd the skies: See! and believe your eyes!

See him stride Valleys wide, Over woods, Over floods! 20 When he treads, Mountains' heads Groan and shake: Armies quake: Lest his spurn Overturn Man and steed, Troops, take heed!

Left and right, Speed your flight! 30 Lest an host Beneath his foot be lost!

Turn'd aside From his hide Safe from wound, Darts rebound.

From his nose Clouds he blows: When he speaks, Thunder breaks! 40 When he eats, Famine threats!

When he drinks, Neptune shrinks!

Nigh thy ear In mid air, On thy hand Let me stand; So shall I, Lofty poet! touch the sky. 50

THE LAMENTATION OF GLUMDALCLITCH FOR THE LOSS OF GRILDRIG.

A PASTORAL.

Soon as Glumdalclitch miss'd her pleasing care, She wept, she blubber'd, and she tore her hair: No British miss sincerer grief has known, Her squirrel missing, or her sparrow flown.

She furl'd her sampler, and haul'd in her thread, And stuck her needle into Grildrig's bed; Then spread her hands, and with a bounce let fall Her baby, like the giant in Guildhall.

In peals of thunder now she roars, and now She gently whimpers like a lowing cow: 10 Yet lovely in her sorrow still appears: Her locks dishevell'd, and her flood of tears, Seem like the lofty barn of some rich swain, When from the thatch drips fast a shower of rain.

In vain she search'd each cranny of the house, Each gaping chink impervious to a mouse.

'Was it for this (she cried) with daily care Within thy reach I set the vinegar, And fill'd the cruet with the acid tide, While pepper-water worms thy bait supplied; 20 Where twined the silver eel around thy hook, And all the little monsters of the brook?

Sure in that lake he dropp'd; my Grilly's drown'd.'

She dragg'd the cruet, but no Grildrig found.

'Vain is thy courage, Grilly, vain thy boast!

But little creatures enterprise the most.

Trembling, I've seen thee dare the kitten's paw, Nay, mix with children as they play'd at taw, Nor fear the marbles as they bounding flew; Marbles to them, but rolling rocks to you! 30

'Why did I trust thee with that giddy youth?

Who from a page can ever learn the truth?

Versed in Court tricks, that money-loving boy To some lord's daughter sold the living toy; Or rent him limb from limb in cruel play, As children tear the wings of flies away.

From place to place o'er Brobdignag I'll roam, And never will return, or bring thee home.

But who hath eyes to trace the passing wind?