Econlib

The Library

Other Sites

 Front Page arrow Titles (by Subject) arrow 1740: A POEM [ ] - The Complete Poetical Works of Alexander Pope

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

Search this Title:

Also in the Library:

Subject Area: Literature

1740: A POEM [ ] - Alexander Pope, The Complete Poetical Works of Alexander Pope [1903]

Edition used:

The Complete Poetical Works of Alexander Pope. Cambridge Edition, ed. Henry W. Boynton (Boston and New York: Houghton, Mifflin and Co., 1903).

About Liberty Fund:

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


1740: A POEM[ ]

‘I shall here,’ says Dr. Warton, ‘present the reader with a valuable literary curiosity, a Fragment of an unpublished Satire of Pope, entitled, One Thousand Seven Hundred and Forty; communicated to me by the kindness of the learned and worthy Dr. Wilson, formerly fellow and librarian of Trinity College, Dublin; who speaks of the Fragment in the following terms:—

‘ “This poem I transcribed from a rough draft in Pope’s own hand. He left many blanks for fear of the Argus eye of those who, if they cannot find, can fabricate treason; yet, spite of his precaution, it fell into the hands of his enemies. To the hieroglyphics there are direct allusions, I think, in some of the notes on the Dunciad. It was lent me by a grandson of Lord Chetwynd, an intimate friend of the famous Lord Bolingbroke, who gratified his curiosity by a boxful of the rubbish and sweepings of Pope’s study, whose executor he was, in conjunction with Lord Marchmont.” ’

    • O wretched B[ritain], jealous now of all,
    • What God, what Mortal shall prevent thy fall?
    • Turn, turn thy eyes from wicked men in place,
    • And see what succour from the patriot race.
    • C[ampbell], his own proud dupe, thinks Monarchs things
    • Made just for him, as other fools for Kings;
    • Controls, decides, insults thee ev’ry hour,
    • And antedates the hatred due to power.
    • Thro’ clouds of passion P[ulteney]’s views are clear;
    • He foams a Patriot to subside a Peer;10
    • Impatient sees his country bought and sold,
    • And damns the market where he takes no gold.
    • Grave, righteous S[andys] jogs on till, past belief,
    • He finds himself companion with a thief.
    • To purge and let thee blood with fire and sword
    • Is all the help stern S[hippen] would afford.
    • That those who bind and rob thee would not kill,
    • Good C[ornbury] hopes, and candidly sits still.
    • Of Ch[arle]s W[illiams] who speaks at all?19
    • No more than of Sir Har[r]y or Sir P[aul]:
    • Whose names once up, they thought it was not wrong
    • To lie in bed, but sure they lay too long.
    • G[owe]r, C[obha]m, B[athurs]t, pay thee due regards.
    • Unless the ladies bid them mind their cards.

with wit that must

  • And C[hesterfiel]d who speaks so well and writes,
  • Whom (saving W.) every S[harper bites,]

must needs

    • Whose wit and . . . equally provoke one,
    • Finds thee, at best, the butt to crack his joke on.
    • As for the rest, each winter up they run,
    • And all are clear, that something must be done.30
    • Then urged by C[artere]t, or by C[artere]t stopp’d,
    • Inflamed by P[ultene]y, and by P[ultene]y dropp’d;
    • They follow rev’rently each wondrous wight,
    • Amazed that one can read, that one can write
    • (So geese to gander prone obedience keep,
    • Hiss if he hiss, and if he slumber, sleep);
    • Till having done whate’er was fit or fine,
    • Utter’d a speech, and ask’d their friends to dine,
    • Each hurries back to his paternal ground,
    • Content but for five shillings in the pound,40
    • Yearly defeated, yearly hopes they give,
    • And all agree Sir Robert cannot live.
    • Rise, rise, great W[alpole], fated to appear,
    • Spite of thyself a glorious minister!
    • Speak the loud language princes . . .
    • And treat with half the . . .
    • At length to B[ritain] kind, as to thy . . .
    • Espouse the nation, you . . .
    • What can thy H[orace] . . .
    • Dress in Dutch . . .50
    • Though still he travels on no bad pretence,
    • To show . . .
    • Or those foul copies of thy face and tongue,
    • Veracious W[innington] and frontless Yonge;
    • Sagacious Bub, so late a friend, and there
    • So late a foe, yet more sagacious H[are]?
    • Hervey and Hervey’s school, F[ox], H[enle]y, H[into]n,
    • Yea, moral Ebor, or religious Winton.
    • How! what can O[nslo]w, what can D[elaware],
    • The wisdom of the one and other chair,60
    • N[ewcastle] laugh, or D[orset]’s sager [sneer],
    • Or thy dread truncheon M[arlboro]’s mighty Peer?
    • What help from J[ekyl]l’s opiates canst thou draw
    • Or H[ardwic]k’s quibbles voted into law?
    • C[ummins], that Roman in his nose alone,
    • Who hears all causes, B[ritain], but thy own,
    • Or those proud fools whom nature, rank, and fate
    • Made fit companions for the sword of state.
    • Can the light Packhorse, or the heavy Steer,69
    • The sowzing Prelate, or the sweating Peer,
    • Drag out with all its dirt and all its weight,
    • The lumb’ring carriage of thy broken state?
    • Alas! the people curse, the carman swears,
    • The drivers quarrel, and the master stares.
    • The plague is on thee, Britain, and who tries
    • To save thee, in th’ infectious office dies.
    • The first firm P[ultene]y soon resign’d his breath,
    • Brave S[carboro] loved thee, and was lied to death.
    • Good M[arch]m[on]t’s fate tore P[olwar]th from thy side,
    • And thy last sigh was heard when W[yndha]m died.80
    • Thy nobles sl[ave]s, thy se[nate]s bought with gold,
    • Thy clergy perjured, thy whole people sold,
    • An atheist , a ″′s ad. . . . . . . . .
    • Blotch thee all o’er, and sink. . . . . .
    • Alas! on one alone our all relies,
    • Let him be honest, and he must be wise.
    • Let him no trifler from his school,
    • Nor like his. . . . . . . . . still a. . . .
    • Be but a man! unminister’d, alone,
    • And free at once the Senate and the Throne;90
    • Esteem the public love his best supply,
    • A ’s true glory his integrity;
    • Rich with his. . . . . . in his. . . . . strong,
    • Affect no conquest, but endure no wrong.
    • Whatever his religion or his blood,
    • His public Virtue makes his title good.
    • Europe’s just balance and our own may stand,
    • And one man’s honesty redeem the land.

POEMS OF UNCERTAIN DATE

[Page 128.] 1740: A Poem.

These verses are supposed to be a fragment found by Lord Bolingbroke among Pope’s papers. There is much doubt about many of the persons referred to; the readings here suggested being merely a choice among many suggested by Bowles and Carruthers.