Of gentle Philips[78] will I ever sing, With gentle Philips shall the valleys ring; My numbers, too, for ever will I vary, With gentle Budgell,[79] and with gentle Carey.[80] Or if in ranging of the names I judge ill, With gentle Carey, and with gentle Budgell, Oh! may all gentle bards together place ye, Men of good hearts, and men of delicacy. May satire ne'er befool ye, or beknave ye, And from all wits that have a knack, God save ye! EPIGRAM, ENGRAVED ON THE COLLAR OF A DOG WHICH I GAVE TO HIS ROYAL HIGHNESS. I am His Highness' dog at Kew; Pray tell me, sir, whose dog are you? THE TRANSLATOR. Ozell, at Sanger's call, invoked his Muse, For who to sing for Sanger could refuse? His numbers such as Sanger's self might use. Reviving Perrault, murdering Boileau, he Slander'd the ancients first, then Wycherley; Which yet not much that old bard's anger raised, Since those were slander'd most whom Ozell praised. Nor had the gentle satire caused complaining, Had not sage Rowe pronounced it entertaining; How great must be the judgment of that writer, Who the Plain Dealer damns, and prints the Biter! THE LOOKING-GLASS. ON MRS PULTENEY.[81] 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.