Alexander Pope: Minor poems Edited by Norman Ault: Completed by John Butt |
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VERSES Sent to Mrs. T. B. with his Works. |
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 | Alexander Pope: Minor poems |  |
189
VERSES Sent to Mrs. T. B. with his Works.
By an Author.
This Book, which, like its Author, You
By the bare Outside only knew,
(Whatever was in either Good,
Not look'd in, or, not understood)
Comes, as the Writer did too long,
To be about you, right or wrong;
Neglected on your Chair to lie,
Nor raise a Thought, nor draw an Eye;
In peevish Fits to have you say,
See there! you're always in my Way!
Or, if your Slave you think to bless,
I like this Colour, I profess!
That Red is charming all will hold,
I ever lov'd it—next to Gold.
By the bare Outside only knew,
(Whatever was in either Good,
Not look'd in, or, not understood)
Comes, as the Writer did too long,
To be about you, right or wrong;
Neglected on your Chair to lie,
Nor raise a Thought, nor draw an Eye;
In peevish Fits to have you say,
See there! you're always in my Way!
Or, if your Slave you think to bless,
I like this Colour, I profess!
190
I ever lov'd it—next to Gold.
Can Book, or Man, more Praise obtain?
What more could G---ge or S---te gain?
What more could G---ge or S---te gain?
Sillier than G*ld*n cou'dst thou be,
Nay, did all J---c---b breath in thee,
She keeps thee, Book! I'll lay my Head,
What? throw away a Fool in Red:
No, trust the Sex's sacred Rule;
The gaudy Dress will save the Fool.
Nay, did all J---c---b breath in thee,
She keeps thee, Book! I'll lay my Head,
What? throw away a Fool in Red:
No, trust the Sex's sacred Rule;
The gaudy Dress will save the Fool.
| Alexander Pope: Minor poems | |