A PASTORAL DIALOGUE
WRITTEN JUNE, 1727, JUST AFTER THE NEWS OF THE DEATH OF GEORGE I, WHO DIED THE 12TH OF THAT MONTH IN GERMANY [1]
This poem was written when George II succeeded his father, and bore the
following explanatory introduction:
Richmond Lodge is a house with a small park belonging to the crown. It
was usually granted by the crown for a lease of years. The Duke of Ormond
was the last who had it. After his exile, it was given to the Prince of
Wales by the king. The prince and princess usually passed their summer
there. It is within a mile of Richmond.
"Marble Hill is a house built by Mrs. Howard, then of the bedchamber, now
Countess of Suffolk, and groom of the stole to the queen. It is on the
Middlesex side, near Twickenham, where Pope lives, and about two miles
from Richmond Lodge. Pope was the contriver of the gardens, Lord Herbert
the architect, the Dean of St. Patrick's chief butler, and keeper of the
ice-house. Upon King George's death, these two houses met, and had the
above dialogue."—Dublin Edition, 1734.
In spight of Pope, in spight of Gay,
And all that he or they can say;
Sing on I must, and sing I will,
Of Richmond Lodge and Marble Hill.
Last Friday night, as neighbours use,
This couple met to talk of news:
For, by old proverbs, it appears,
That walls have tongues, and hedges ears.
MARBLE HILL
Quoth Marble Hill, right well I ween,
Your mistress now is grown a queen;
You'll find it soon by woful proof,
She'll come no more beneath your roof.
RICHMOND LODGE
The kingly prophet well evinces,
That we should put no trust in princes:
My royal master promised me
To raise me to a high degree:
But now he's grown a king, God wot,
I fear I shall be soon forgot.
You see, when folks have got their ends,
How quickly they neglect their friends;
Yet I may say, 'twixt me and you,
Pray God, they now may find as true!
MARBLE HILL
My house was built but for a show,
My lady's empty pockets know;
And now she will not have a shilling,
To raise the stairs, or build the ceiling;
For all the courtly madams round
Now pay four shillings in the pound;
'Tis come to what I always thought:
My dame is hardly worth a groat.[2]
Had you and I been courtiers born,
We should not thus have lain forlorn;
For those we dext'rous courtiers call,
Can rise upon their masters' fall:
But we, unlucky and unwise,
Must fall because our masters rise.
RICHMOND LODGE
My master, scarce a fortnight since,
Was grown as wealthy as a prince;
But now it will be no such thing,
For he'll be poor as any king;
And by his crown will nothing get,
But like a king to run in debt.
MARBLE HILL
No more the Dean, that grave divine,
Shall keep the key of my (no) wine;
My ice-house rob, as heretofore,
And steal my artichokes no more;
Poor Patty Blount[3] no more be seen
Bedraggled in my walks so green:
Plump Johnny Gay will now elope;
And here no more will dangle Pope.
RICHMOND LODGE
Here wont the Dean, when he's to seek,
To spunge a breakfast once a-week;
To cry the bread was stale, and mutter
Complaints against the royal butter.
But now I fear it will be said,
No butter sticks upon his bread.[4]
We soon shall find him full of spleen,
For want of tattling to the queen;
Stunning her royal ears with talking;
His reverence and her highness walking:
While Lady Charlotte,[5] like a stroller,
Sits mounted on the garden-roller.
A goodly sight to see her ride,
With ancient Mirmont[6] at her side.
In velvet cap his head lies warm,
His hat, for show, beneath his arm.
MARBLE HILL
Some South-Sea broker from the city
Will purchase me, the more's the pity;
Lay all my fine plantations waste,
To fit them to his vulgar taste:
Chang'd for the worse in ev'ry part,
My master Pope will break his heart.
RICHMOND LODGE
In my own Thames may I be drownded,
If e'er I stoop beneath a crown'd head:
Except her majesty prevails
To place me with the Prince of Wales;
And then I shall be free from fears,
For he'll be prince these fifty years.
I then will turn a courtier too,
And serve the times as others do.
Plain loyalty, not built on hope,
I leave to your contriver, Pope;
None loves his king and country better,
Yet none was ever less their debtor.
MARBLE HILL
Then let him come and take a nap
In summer on my verdant lap;
Prefer our villas, where the Thames is,
To Kensington, or hot St. James's;
Nor shall I dull in silence sit;
For 'tis to me he owes his wit;
My groves, my echoes, and my birds,
Have taught him his poetic words.
We gardens, and you wildernesses,
Assist all poets in distresses.
Him twice a-week I here expect,
To rattle Moody[7] for neglect;
An idle rogue, who spends his quartridge
In tippling at the Dog and Partridge;
And I can hardly get him down
Three times a-week to brush my gown.
RICHMOND LODGE
I pity you, dear Marble Hill;
But hope to see you flourish still.
All happiness—and so adieu.
MARBLE HILL
Kind Richmond Lodge, the same to you.
[Footnote 1: The King left England on the 3rd June, 1727, and after
supping heartily and sleeping at the Count de Twellet's house near Delden
on the 9th, he continued his journey to Osnabruck, where he arrived at
the house of his brother, the Duke of York, on the night of the 11th,
wholly paralyzed, and died calmly the next morning, in the very same room
where he was born.—W. E. B.]
[Footnote 2: Swift was probably not aware how nearly he described the
narrowed situation of Mrs. Howard's finances. Lord Orford, in a letter to
Lord Strafford, 29th July, 1767, written shortly after her death,
described her affairs as so far from being easy, that the utmost economy
could by no means prevent her exceeding her income considerably; and
states in his Reminiscences, that, besides Marble Hill, which cost the
King ten or twelve thousand pounds, she did not leave above twenty
thousand pounds to her family.—See "Lord Orford's Works," vol. iv, p.
304; v, p. 456.—W. E. B.]
[Footnote 3: Who was "often in Swift's thoughts," and "high in his
esteem"; and to whom Pope dedicated his second "Moral
Epistle."—W. E. B.]
[Footnote 4: This also proved a prophecy more true than the Dean
suspected.]
[Footnote 5: Lady Charlotte de Roussy, a French lady.—Dublin
Edition.]
[Footnote 6: Marquis de Mirmont, a Frenchman, who had come to England
after the Edict of Nantes (by which Henri IV had secured freedom of
religion to Protestants) had been revoked by Louis XIV in 1685. See
Voltaire, "Siècle de Louis XIV."—W. E. B.]
[Footnote 7: The gardener.]