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

The love of arts lies cold and dead
In Hallifax's urn;

And not one Muse of all he fed,
Has yet the grace to mourn.

My friends, by turns, my friends confound,
Betray, and are betray'd:

Poor Yrs fold for fifty pounds,
And B11 is a jade.

Why make I friendships with the
When I no favour feek?


Or follow girls feven hours in eight?—
I us'd but once a week.

Still idle, with a bufy air,

Deep whimfies to contrive; The gayeft valetudinaire,

Most thinking rake alive.

Solicitous for other ends,

Tho' fond of dear repofe; Careless or drowsy with my friends, And frolick with my foes.


Luxurious lobster-nights, farewell,
For fober, ftudious days!
And Burlington's delicious meal,
For fallads, tarts, and pease!

Adieu to all but Gay alone,

Whose foul, fincere and free, Loves all mankind, but flatters none, And fo may starve with me.

Thefe Lines were added by Mr. POPE after the prefent Conclufion of his Addrefs to Mifs MARTHA BLOUNT, on her leaving Town, &c. "As fome fond Virgin, &c."


this strange town a different course we take, Refine ourselves to fpirit, for your fake. For want of you, we spend our random wit on The first we find with Needham, Brooks, or Briton. Hackney'd in fin, we beat about the town, And like sure spaniels, at first scent lie down : Were Virtue's felf in filks-faith keep away! Or virtue's virtue fcarce would last a day.

Thus, Madam, most men talk, and fome men do; The rest is told you in a line or two.

Some strangely wonder you're not fond to marry-
A double jest still pleases fweet Sir Harry
Small-pox is rife, and Gay in dreadful fear-
The good priests whisper-Where's the chevalier?
Much in your abfence B-'s heart endures,
And if poor Pope is, the fault is yours.

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The following Lines were fung by DURASTANTI, when
She took her leave of the English Stage. The Words
were in Hafte put together by Mr. POPE, at the
Request of the Earl of PETERBOROW.


ENEROUS, gay, and gallant nation, Bold in arms, and bright in arts; Land fecure from all invasion,

All but Cupid's gentle darts!

From your charms, oh who would run?
Who would leave you for the fun?

Happy foil, adieu, adieu!

Let old charmers yield to new.

In arms, in arts, be ftill more fhining;

All your joys be still encreasing;

All tastes be still refining;


All your jars for ever ceafing:

But let old charmers yield to new :-
Happy foil, adieu, adieu!

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Upon the Duke of MARLBOROUGH's Houfe at Woodstock.

Atria longè patent; fed nec cœnantibus ufquam,
Nec fomno locus eft: quàm bene non habites!

SEE, Sir, here's the grand approach,
This way is for his Grace's coach;
There lies the bridge, and here's the clock,
Obferve the lion and the cock,

The spacious court, the colonnade,

And mark how wide the hall is made!
The chimneys are fo well defign'd,
They never smoke in any wind.
This gallery's contriv'd for walking,
The windows to retire and talk in ;
The council-chamber for debate,
And all the reft are rooms of state,


MART. Epig.

Thanks, Sir, cry'd I, 'tis very fine,
But where d'ye fleep, or where d'ye dine?
I find by all you have been telling,
That 'tis a house, but not a dwelling.

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