That long behind he trails his pompous robe, And, of all monarchs, only grafps the globe?

The Baron now, his Diamonds pours apace; Th' embroider'd King who fhews but half his face, [bin'd, And his refulgent Queen, with pow'rs comOf broken troops an eafy conquest find. Clubs, Diamonds, Hearts, in wild diforder

feen,

With throngs promifcuous ftrow the level

green,

Thus, when difpers'd a routed army runs,
Of Afia's troops, and Afric's fable fons,
With like confufion different nations fly,
Of various habit, and of various dye,
The pierc'd battalions difunited fall,
In heaps on heaps; one fate o'erwhelms
them all.

The Knave of Diamonds tries his wily arts, And wins (oh fhameful chance!) the Queen of Hearts.

At

At this, the blood the virgin's cheek for fook,

A livid palenefs spreads o'er all her look;
She fees, and trembles at th' approaching ill,
Juft in the jaws of ruin, and Codille.
And now, (as oft in fome diftemper'd state)
On one nice trick depends the genʼral fate,
An Ace of Hearts steps forth; the King un-
feen

Lurk'd in her hand, and mourn'd his captive Queen :

He fprings to vengeance with an eager pace, And falls like thunder on the proftrate Ace. The Nymph exulting fills with fhouts the

fky;

The walls, the woods, and long canals re

ply.

POPE.

VOL. II. G

Day.

Day. A Paftoral in Three Parts.

IN

MORNING.

N the barn the tenant cock,

Clofe to Partlet perch'd on high,

Briskly crows, (the shepherd's clock !)
Jocound that the morning's nigh.

Swiftly from the mountain's brow,
Shadows, nurs'd by night, retire;
And the peeping fun-beam, now,
Paints with gold the village fpire.

Philomel forfakes the thorn,
Plaintive where the prates at night;
And the lark, to meet the morn,
Soars beyond the fhepherd's fight.

From the low roof'd cottage ridge,

See the chatt'ring swallow spring;
Darting through the one-arch'd bridge,
Quick the dips her dappled wing.

Now

Now the pine-tree's waving top
Gently greets the morning gale;
Kidlings, now, begin to crop-
Daifies, on the dewy dale.

From the balmy fweets, uncloy'd,
(Reftlefs till her task be done).
Now the bufy bee's employ'd,
Sipping dew before the fun.

Trickling through the crevic'd rock,
Where the limpid ftream diftils,
Sweet refreshment waits the flock,
When 'tis fun-drove from the hills.

Colin's for the promis'd corn

(Ere the harveft hopes are ripe) Anxious ; whilft the huntsman's horn, Boldly founding, drowns his pipe.

Sweet-O fweet, the warbling throng,
On the white embloffom'd spray !
Nature's univerfel fong

Echo's to the rising day.

NOON.

FERVID on the glitt'ring flood,
Now the noon-tide radiance glows;
Drooping o'er its infant bud,

Not a dew-drop's left the rofe.

By the brook the fhepherd dines,
From the fierce meridian heat
Shelter'd by the branching pines,
Pendant o'er his graffy feat.

Now the flock forfakes the glade,
Where uncheck'd the fun-beams fall;

Sure to find a pleafing shade

By the ivy'd abbey wall.

Echo, in her airy round,

O'er the river, rock, and hill,

Cannot catch a fingle found,

Save the clack of yonder mill.

Cattle court the zephyrs bland,
Where the ftreamlet wanders cool;

Or with languid filence stand
Midway in the marshy pool.

But