Home

Liberty Fund, Inc. is a private, educational foundation established to encourage the study of the ideal of a society of free and responsible individuals.

Copyright information:

The text is in the public domain.

Fair use statement:

This material is put online to further the educational goals of Liberty Fund, Inc. Unless otherwise stated in the Copyright Information section above, this material may be used freely for educational and academic purposes. It may not be used in any way for profit.

IMITATIONS OF ENGLISH POETS

These imitations, with the exception of Silence (Lintot, 1712), were not published till 1727. Pope says, however, that they were ‘done as early as the translations, some of them at fourteen and fifteen years old.’ The Happy Life of a Country Parson must have been written later than the rest, as Pope did not know Swift till 1713.

CHAUCER

- Women ben full of ragerie,
- Yet swinken not sans secresie.
- Thilke Moral shall ye understond,
- From schoole-boy’s Tale of fayre Irelond;
- Which to the Fennes hath him betake,
- To filche the grey Ducke fro the Lake.
- Right then there passen by the way
- His Aunt, and eke her Daughters tway.
- Ducke in his trowses hath he hent,
- Not to be spied of ladies gent.10
- ‘But ho! our Nephew,’ crieth one;
- ‘Ho!’ quoth another, ‘Cozen John;’
- And stoppen, and lough, and callen out—
- This sely Clerke full low doth lout:
- They asken that, and talken this,
- ‘Lo, here is Coz, and here is Miss.’
- But, as he glozeth with speeches soote,
- The Ducke sore tickleth his Erse-roote:
- Fore-piece and buttons all-to-brest,
- Forth thrust a white neck and red crest.20
- ‘Te-hee,’ cried ladies; clerke nought spake;
- Miss stared, and grey Ducke crieth ‘quaake.’
- ‘O Moder, Moder!’ quoth the Daughter,
- ‘Be thilke same thing Maids longen a’ter?
- Bette is to pine on coals and chalke,
- Then trust on Mon whose yerde can talke.’

SPENSER [ ]

THE ALLEY

- In ev’ry Town where Thamis rolls his tyde,
- A narrow pass there is, with houses low,
- Where ever and anon the stream is eyed,
- And many a boat soft sliding to and fro:
- There oft are heard the notes of Infant Woe,
- The short thick Sob, loud Scream, and shriller Squall:
- How can ye, Mothers, vex your children so?
- Some play, some eat, some cack against the wall,
- And as they crouchen low, for bread and butter call.
- And on the broken pavement, here and there,
- Doth many a stinking sprat and herring lie;
- A brandy and tobacco shop is neare,
- And hens, and dogs, and hogs, are feeding by;
- And here a sailor’s jacket hangs to dry.
- At ev’ry door are sunburnt matrons seen,
- Mending old nets to catch the scaly fry;
- Now singing shrill, and scolding eft between;
- Scolds answer foul-mouth’d Scolds; bad neighbourhood I ween.
- The snappish cur (the passengers’ annoy)
- Close at my heel with yelping treble flies;
- The whimp’ring Girl, and hoarser screaming Boy,
- Join to the yelping treble shrilling cries;
- The scolding Quean to louder notes doth rise,
- And her full pipes those shrilling cries confound;
- To her full pipes the grunting hog replies;
- The grunting hogs alarm the neighbours round,
- And Curs, Girls, Boys, and Scolds, in the deep bass are drown’d.
- Hard by a sty, beneath a roof of thatch,
- Dwelt Obloquy, who in her early days
- Baskets of fish at Billingsgate did watch,
- Cod, whiting, oyster, mackrel, sprat, or plaice:
- There learn’d she speech from tongues that never cease.
- Slander beside her like a magpie chatters,
- With Envy (spitting cat), dread foe to peace;
- Like a curs’d cur, Malice before her clatters,
- And vexing ev’ry wight, tears clothes and all to tatters.
- Her dugs were mark’d by ev’ry Collier’s hand,
- Her mouth was black as bull-dogs at the stall:
- She scratchëd, bit, and spared ne lace ne band,
- And bitch and rogue her answer was to all.
- Nay, ev’n the parts of shame by name would call:
- Yea, when she passed by or lane or nook,
- Would greet the man who turn’d him to the wall,
- And by his hand obscene the porter took,
- Nor ever did askance like modest virgin look.
- Such place hath Deptford, navy-building town,
- Woolwich and Wapping, smelling strong of pitch;
- Such Lambeth, envy of each band and gown,
- And Twick’nam such, which fairer scenes enrich,
- Grots, statues, urns, and Jo—n’s dog and bitch.
- Ne village is without, on either side,
- All up the silver Thames, or all adown;
- Ne Richmond’s self, from whose tall front are eyed
- Vales, spires, meand’ring streams, and Windsor’s tow’ry pride.

WALLER

ON A LADY SINGING TO HER LUTE

Fair Charmer, cease! nor make your Voice’s prize
A heart resign’d the conquest of your Eyes:
Well might, alas! that threaten’d vessel fail,
Which winds and lightning both at once assail.
We were too bless’d with these enchanting lays,
Which must be heav’nly when an Angel plays:
But killing charms your lover’s death contrive,
Lest heav’nly music should be heard alive.
Orpheus could charm the trees; but thus a tree,
Taught by your hand, can charm no less than he;
A poet made the silent wood pursue;
This vocal wood had drawn the poet too.

ON A FAN OF THE AUTHOR’S DESIGN

in which was painted the story of cephalus and procris, with the motto ‘aura veni’

Come, gentle air! th’ Æolian shepherd said,
While Procris panted in the secret shade;
Come, gentle air! the fairer Delia cries,
While at her feet her swain expiring lies.
Lo, the glad gales o’er all her beauties stray,
Breathe on her lips, and in her bosom play;
In Delia’s hand this toy is fatal found,
Nor could that fabled dart more surely wound:
Both gifts destructive to the givers prove;
Alike both lovers fall by those they love.
Yet guiltless too this bright destroyer lives,
At random wounds, nor knows the wounds she gives;
She views the story with attentive eyes,
And pities Procris while her lover dies.

COWLEY

THE GARDEN

Fain would my Muse the flow’ry treasures sing,
And humble glories of the youthful Spring;
Where op’ning roses breathing sweets diffuse,
And soft carnations shower their balmy dews;
Where lilies smile in virgin robes of white,
The thin undress of superficial light;
And varied tulips show so dazzling gay,
Blushing in bright diversities of day.
Each painted flow’ret in the lake below
Surveys its beauties, whence its beauties grow;10
And pale Narcissus, on the bank in vain
Transformëd, gazes on himself again.
Here aged trees cathedral walks compose,
And mount the hill in venerable rows;
There the green infants in their beds are laid,
The garden’s hope, and its expected shade.
Here orange trees with blooms and pendants shine,
And Vernal honours to their Autumn join;
Exceed their promise in the ripen’d store,
Yet in the rising blossom promise more.20
There in bright drops the crystal fountains play,
By laurels shielded from the piercing day;
Where Daphne, now a tree as once a maid,
Still from Apollo vindicates her shade;
Still turns her beauties from th’ invading beam,
Nor seeks in vain for succour to the stream.
The stream at once preserves her virgin leaves,
At once a shelter from her boughs receives,
Where summer’s beauty midst of winter stays,
And winter’s coolness spite of summer’s rays.30

WEEPING

- While Celia’s tears make sorrow bright,
- Proud grief sits swelling in her eyes;
- The sun, next those the fairest light,
- Thus from the ocean first did rise:
- And thus thro’ mists we see the sun,
- Which else we durst not gaze upon.
- These silver drops, like morning dew,
- Foretell the fervor of the day:
- So from one cloud soft showers we view,
- And blasting lightnings burst away.
- The stars that fall from Celia’s eye
- Declare our doom is drawing nigh.
- The baby in that sunny sphere
- So like a Phaëton appears,
- That Heav’n, the threaten’d world to spare,
- Thought fit to drown him in her tears;
- Else might th’ ambitions nymph aspire
- To set, like him, Heav’n too on fire.

EARL OF ROCHESTER

ON SILENCE

- Silence! coeval with Eternity,
- Thou wert ere Nature’s self began to be,
- ’T was one vast nothing all, and all slept fast in thee.
- Thine was the sway ere Heav’n was form’d, or earth,
- Ere fruitful thought conceiv’d Creation’s birth,
- Or midwife word gave aid, and spoke the infant forth.
- Then various elements against thee join’d,
- In one more various animal combin’d,
- And framed the clam’rous race of busy humankind.
- The tongue mov’d gently first, and speech was low,
- Till wrangling Science taught its noise and show,
- And wicked Wit arose, thy most abusive foe.
- But rebel Wit deserts thee oft in vain;
- Lost in the maze of words he turns again,
- And seeks a surer state, and courts thy gentle reign.
- Afflicted Sense thou kindly dost set free,
- Oppress’d with argumental tyranny,
- And routed Reason finds a safe retreat in thee.
- With thee in private modest Dulness lies,
- And in thy bosom lurks in thought’s disguise;
- Thou varnisher of fools, and cheat of all the wise!
- Yet thy indulgence is by both confest;
- Folly by thee lies sleeping in the breast,
- And ’t is in thee at last that Wisdom seeks for rest.
- Silence, the knave’s repute, the whore’s good name,
- The only honour of the wishing dame;
- The very want of tongue makes thee a kind of Fame.
- But couldst thou seize some tongues that now are free,
- How Church and State should be obliged to thee!
- At Senate and at Bar how welcome wouldst thou be!
- Yet speech, ev’n there, submissively withdraws
- From rights of subjects, and the poor man’s cause;
- Then pompous Silence reigns, and stills the noisy Laws.
- Past services of friends, good deeds of foes,
- What fav’rites gain, and what the nation owes,
- Fly the forgetful world, and in thy arms repose.
- The country wit, religion of the town,
- The courtier’s learning, policy o’ th’ gown,
- Are best by thee express’d, and shine in thee alone.
- The parson’s cant, the lawyer’s sophistry,
- Lord’s quibble, critic’s jest, all end in thee;
- All rest in peace at last, and sleep eternally.

EARL OF DORSET

ARTEMISIA

- Tho’ Artemisia talks by fits
- Of councils, classics, fathers, wits,
- Reads Malbranche, Boyle, and Locke,
- Yet in some things methinks she fails:
- ’T were well if she would pare her nails,
- And wear a cleaner smock.
- Haughty and huge as High Dutch bride,
- Such nastiness and so much pride
- Are oddly join’d by fate:
- On her large squab you find her spread,
- Like a fat corpse upon a bed,
- That lies and stinks in state.
- She wears no colours (sign of grace)
- On any part except her face;
- All white and black beside:
- Dauntless her look, her gesture proud,
- Her voice theatrically loud,
- And masculine her stride.
- So have I seen, in black and white,
- A prating thing, a magpie hight,
- Majestically stalk;
- A stately worthless animal,
- That plies the tongue, and wags the tail,
- All flutter, pride, and talk.

PHRYNE

- Phryne had talents for mankind;
- Open she was and unconfin’d,
- Like some free port of trade:
- Merchants unloaded here their freight,
- And agents from each foreign state
- Here first their entry made.
- Her learning and good breeding such,
- Whether th’ Italian or the Dutch,
- Spaniards or French, came to her,
- To all obliging she’d appear;
- ’T was Si Signior, ’t was Yaw Mynheer,
- ’T was S’il vous plait, Monsieur.
- Obscure by birth, renown’d by crimes,
- Still changing names, religions, climes,
- At length she turns a bride:
- In diamonds, pearls, and rich brocades,
- She shines the first of batter’d jades,
- And flutters in her pride.
- So have I known those insects fair
- (Which curious Germans hold so rare)
- Still vary shapes and dyes;
- Still gain new titles with new forms;
- First grubs obscene, then wriggling worms,
- Then painted butterflies.

DR. SWIFT

THE HAPPY LIFE OF A COUNTRY PARSON

- Parson, these things in thy possessing
- Are better than the bishop’s blessing:
- A wife that makes conserves; a steed
- That carries double when there ’s need;
- October store, and best Virginia,
- Tythe pig, and mortuary guinea;
- Gazettes sent gratis down and frank’d,
- For which thy patron’s weekly thank’d;
- A large Concordance, bound long since;
- Sermons to Charles the First, when prince;
- A Chronicle of ancient standing;
- A Chrysostom to smooth thy band in;
- The Polyglott—three parts—my text,
- Howbeit—likewise—now to my next;
- Lo here the Septuagint—and Paul,
- To sum the whole—the close of all.
- He that has these may pass his life,
- Drink with the ’Squire, and kiss his wife;
- On Sundays preach, and eat his fill,
- And fast on Fridays—if he will;
- Toast Church and Queen, explain the news,
- Talk with Churchwardens about pews,
- Pray heartily for some new gift,
- And shake his head at Doctor S—t.

PASTORALS

Rura mihi et rigui placeant in vallibus amnes,
Flumma amem, sylvasque, inglorius!
Virg

The Pastorals, by Pope’s account, were written at sixteen, in 1704. ‘Beyond the fact that he systematically antedated his compositions in order to obtain credit for precocity,’ says Courthope, ‘there is nothing improbable in the statement.’ They were first published in 1709, in Tonson’s Sixth Miscellany. The Discourse on Pastoral Poetry did not appear till the edition of 1717, but is here given the place which he desired for it at the head of the Pastorals: and the original footnotes, referring to critical authorities, are retained.

[Page 15.]Spenser: The Alley.

[Stanza vi., line 5.]Jo—n. Old Mr. Johnston, the retired Scotch Secretary of State, who lived at Twickenham. (Carruthers.)

Home

The Forum

Econlib

The Library

Other Sites

The Library

Return to Title Page for The Complete Poetical Works of Alexander Pope

The Online Library of Liberty

A project of Liberty Fund, Inc.

Search this Title:

Also in the Library:

IMITATIONS OF ENGLISH POETS - Alexander Pope, The Complete Poetical Works of Alexander Pope [1903]

Edition used:

About Liberty Fund: