In all thy humors, whether grave or mellow,
Thou 'rt such a touchy, testy, pleasant fellow;
Hast so much wit, and mirth, and spleen about thee,
There is no living with thee, nor without thee.
TO A ROGUE. [IMITATED FROM MARTIAL.]
Thy beard and head are of a different dye:
Short of one foot, distorted in an eye:
With all these tokens of a knave complete,
Should'st thou be honest, thou 'rt a dev'lish cheat.
EPIGRAMS OF ALEXANDER POPE.
ON MRS. TOFTS. (A CELEBRATED OPERA SINGER.)
So bright is thy beauty, so charming thy song,
As had drawn both the beasts and their Orpheus along;
But such is thy avarice, and such is thy pride.
That the beasts must have starved, and the poet have died.
TO A BLOCKHEAD.
You beat your pate, and fancy wit will come:
Knock as you please, there's nobody at home.
THE FOOL AND THE POET.
Sir, I admit your general rule,
That every poet is a fool,
But you yourself may serve to show it,
That every fool is not a poet.