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I shall here present the Reader with a valuable Literary Curiofity, a Fragment of an unpublished Satire of Pope, intitled, ONE THOUSAND SEVEN HUNDRED AND FORTY; communicated to me by the kindness of the learned and worthy Dr. Wilfon, formerly fellow and librarian of Trinity College, Dublin; who fpeaks 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. glyphics, there are direct allufions, I think, in fome of the notes To the hieroon the Dunciad. It was lent me by a grandson of Lord Chetwynd, an intimate friend of the famous Lord Bolingbroke, who gratified his curiofity by a boxful of the rubbish and sweepings of Pope's study, whofe executor he was, in conjunction with Lord Marchmont."
A POE M.
jealous now of all,
WRETCHED B What God, what mortal, fhall prevent thy fall? Turn, turn thy eyes from wicked men in place, And fee what fuccour from the Patriot Race. C-, his own proud dupe, thinks Monarchs things Made juft for him, as other fools for Kings; Controls, decides, infults thee every hour, And antedates the hatred due to Pow'r.
Thro' Clouds of Paffion P - -'s views are clear,
To purge and let thee blood, with fire and fword, Is all the help stern S-- wou'd afford.
That those who bind and rob thee, would not kill,
Good C -- hopes, and candidly fits still.
Of Ch - s W -- who speaks at all,
No more than of Sir Har-y or Sir P-.
Gr, C-m- B- t, pay thee due regards,
And Cd who fpeaks fo well and writes,
Whose wit and
They follow rev'rently each wond'rous wight,
Till having done whate'er was fit or fine,
Rife, rife, great W-fated to appear,
And treat with half the
Tho' ftill he travels on no bad pretence,
Or thofe foul copies of thy face and tongue,
but thy own,
Or those proud fools whom nature, rank, and fate
Can the light packhorfe, or the heavy steer,
The plague is on thee, Britain, and who tries
The first firm P -- y foon refign'd his breath,