'Thanks, sir,' cried I, ''tis very fine, But where d'ye sleep, or where d'ye dine? I find by all you have been telling That 'tis a house, but not a dwelling.' VERSES LEFT BY MR POPE. ON HIS LYING IN THE SAME BED WHICH WILMOT, THE CELEBRATED EARL OF ROCHESTER, SLEPT IN AT ADDERBURY, THEN BELONGING TO THE DUKE OF ARGYLL, JULY 9, 1739. 1 With no poetic ardour fired, I press the bed where Wilmot lay; That here he loved, or here expired, Begets no numbers, grave or gay. 2 Beneath thy roof, Argyll, are bred Such thoughts as prompt the brave to lie Stretch'd out in honour's nobler bed, Beneath a nobler roof--the sky. 3 Such flames as high in patriots burn, Yet stoop to bless a child or wife; And such as wicked kings may mourn, When freedom is more dear than life. THE CHALLENGE, A COURT BALLAD. TO THE TUNE OF 'TO ALL YOU LADIES NOW AT LAND.' 1 To one fair lady out of Court, And two fair ladies in, Who think the Turk[72] and Pope[73] a sport, And wit and love no sin; Come these soft lines, with nothing stiff in, To Bellenden, Lepell, and Griffin.[74] With a fa, la, la. 2 What passes in the dark third row, And what behind the scene, Couches and crippled chairs I know, And garrets hung with green; I know the swing of sinful hack, Where many damsels cry alack. With a fa, la, la. 3 Then why to Courts should I repair, Where's such ado with Townshend? To hear each mortal stamp and swear, And every speech with 'zounds!' end; To hear 'em rail at honest Sunderland, And rashly blame the realm of Blunderland.[75] With a fa, la, la. 4 Alas! like Schutz I cannot pun, Like Grafton court the Germans; Tell Pickenbourg how slim she's grown, Like Meadows[76] run to sermons; To Court ambitious men may roam, But I and Marlbro' stay at home. With a fa, la, la. 5 In truth, by what I can discern Of courtiers, 'twixt you three, Some wit you have, and more may learn From Court, than Gay or me; Perhaps, in time, you'll leave high diet, To sup with us on milk and quiet. With a fa, la, la. 6 At Leicester Fields, a house full high, With door all painted green, Where ribbons wave upon the tie, (A milliner I mean;) There may you meet us, three to three, For Gay can well make two of me. With a fa, la, la. 7 But should you catch the prudish itch And each become a coward, Bring sometimes with you Lady Rich, And sometimes Mistress Howard; For virgins, to keep chaste, must go Abroad with such as are not so. With a fa, la, la. 8 And thus, fair maids, my ballad ends; God send the king safe landing;[77] And make all honest ladies friends To armies that are standing; Preserve the limits of those nations, And take off ladies' limitations. With a fa, la, la. THE THREE GENTLE SHEPHERDS.