Alexander Pope: Minor poems Edited by Norman Ault: Completed by John Butt |
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Alexander Pope: Minor poems | ||
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VI. Lines suppressed at the End of the Epistle—
To Miss Blount, on leaving the Town, &c.
In this strange Town a different Course we take,
Refine ourselves to Spirit, for your Sake.
For Want of you, we spend our random Wit on
The first we find with Needham, Brooks, or Briton.
Hackney'd in Sin, we beat about the Town,
And like sure Spaniels, at first Scent lie down.
Were Virtue's self in Silks,—faith keep away!
Or Virtue's Virtue scarce would last a Day.
Refine ourselves to Spirit, for your Sake.
For Want of you, we spend our random Wit on
The first we find with Needham, Brooks, or Briton.
Hackney'd in Sin, we beat about the Town,
And like sure Spaniels, at first Scent lie down.
Were Virtue's self in Silks,—faith keep away!
Or Virtue's Virtue scarce would last a Day.
Thus, Madam, most Men talk, and some Men do:
The rest is told you in a Line or two.
Some strangely wonder you're not fond to marry—
A double Jest still pleases sweet Sir Harry—
Small-Pox is rife, and Gay in dreadful fear—
The good Priests whisper—Where's the Chevalier?
Much in your Absence B---'s Heart endures,
And if poor Pope is cl*pt, the Fault is yours.
The rest is told you in a Line or two.
Some strangely wonder you're not fond to marry—
A double Jest still pleases sweet Sir Harry—
Small-Pox is rife, and Gay in dreadful fear—
The good Priests whisper—Where's the Chevalier?
Much in your Absence B---'s Heart endures,
And if poor Pope is cl*pt, the Fault is yours.
Alexander Pope: Minor poems | ||