Has in the very tenderest hour Over my gentleness a power; True to my country-women's charms, When kissed and pressed in foreign arms. FOOTNOTES: [Footnote 35: Charles, 2d Earl of Middleton, a man of some literary accomplishment. He had been Envoy Extraordinary to the Emperor of Germany, and was now one of the secretaries of state for Scotland.] [Footnote 36: Graf, or Count.] [Footnote 37: Countess.] [Footnote 38: _Quere_, Did Pope think of this passage in his famous account of Belinda's bodkin?] [Footnote 39: Henry VIII.] EPISTLE THE NINTH. To you, who live in chill degree, As map informs, of fifty-three,[40] And do not much for cold atone, By bringing thither fifty-one, Methinks all climes should be alike, From tropic even to pole artique; Since you have such a constitution As no where suffers diminution. You can be old in grave debate, And young in love affairs of state; And both to wives and husbands show The vigour of a plenipo. Like mighty missioner you come _Ad Partes Infidelium_. A work of wonderous merit sure, So far to go, so much t'endure; And all to preach to German dame, Where sound of Cupid never came. Less had you done, had you been sent As far as Drake or Pinto went, For cloves or nutmegs to the line-a, Or even for oranges to China. That had indeed been charity, } Where love-sick ladies helpless lie, } Chapt, and, for want of liquor, dry. } But you have made your zeal appear Within the circle of the Bear. What region of the earth's so dull, That is not of your labours full? Triptolemus (so sung the Nine) Strewed plenty from his cart divine; But spite of all these fable-makers, He never sowed on Almain acres. No, that was left by fate's decree To be performed and sung by thee. Thou break'st through forms with as much ease As the French king through articles. In grand affairs thy days are spent, } In waging weighty compliment, } With such as monarchs represent. } They, whom such vast fatigues attend, Want some soft minutes to unbend, To shew the world that, now and then, Great ministers are mortal men. Then Rhenish rummers walk the round; In bumpers every king is crowned; Besides three holy mitred Hectors,[41] And the whole college of Electors. No health of potentate is sunk, That pays to make his envoy drunk. These Dutch delights, I mentioned last, Suit not, I know, your English taste: For wine to leave a whore or play, Was ne'er your Excellency's way.[42] Nor need this title give offence, For here you were your Excellence; For gaming, writing, speaking, keeping, His Excellence for all--but sleeping. Now if you tope in form, and treat, } 'Tis the sour sauce to the sweet meat, }