BOUNCE
TO
FOP
.
TO
thee
,
sweet
Fop
,
these
Lines
I
send
,
Who
,
tho'
no
Spaniel
,
am
a
Friend
.
Tho
,
once
my
Tail
in
wanton
play
,
Now
frisking
this
,
and
then
that
way
,
Chanc'd
,
with
a
Touch
of
just
the
Tip
,
To
hurt
your
Lady-lap-dog-ship
;
Yet
thence
to
think
I'd
bite
your
Head
off
!
Sure
Bounce
is
one
you
never
read
of
.
FOP
!
you
can
dance
,
and
make
a
Leg
,
Can
fetch
and
carry
,
cringe
and
beg
,
And
(
what's
the
Top
of
all
your
Tricks
)
Can
stoop
to
pick
up
Strings
and
Sticks
.
We
Country
Dogs
love
nobler
Sport
,
And
scorn
the
Pranks
of
Dogs
at
Court
.
Fye
,
naughty
Fop
!
where
e'er
you
come
To
f—t
and
p—ss
about
the
Room
,
To
lay
your
Head
in
every
Lap
,
And
,
when
they
think
not
of
you
—
snap
!
The
worst
that
Envy
,
or
that
Spite
E'er
said
of
me
,
is
,
I
can
bite
:
That
sturdy
Vagrants
,
Rogues
in
Rags
,
Who
poke
at
me
,
can
make
no
Brags
;
And
that
to
towze
such
Things
as
flutter
,
To
honest
Bounce
is
Bread
and
Butter
.
While
you
,
and
every
courtly
Fop
,
Fawn
on
the
Devil
for
a
Chop
,
I've
the
Humanity
to
hate
A
Butcher
,
tho'
he
brings
me
Meat
;
And
let
me
tell
you
,
have
a
Nose
,
(
Whatever
stinking
Fops
suppose
)
That
under
Cloth
of
Gold
or
Tissue
,
Can
smell
a
Plaister
,
or
an
Issue
.
Your
pilf'ring
Lord
,
with
simple
Pride
,
May
wear
a
Pick-lock
at
his
Side
;
My
Master
wants
no
Key
of
State
,
For
Bounce
can
keep
his
House
and
Gate
.
When
all
such
Dogs
have
had
their
Days
,
As
knavish
Pams
,
and
fawning
Trays
;
When
pamper'd
Cupids
,
beastly
Veni's
,
And
motly
,
squinting
Harvequini's
,
Shall
lick
no
more
their
Lady's
Br—
,
But
die
of
Looseness
,
Claps
,
or
Itch
;
Fair
Thames
from
either
ecchoing
Shore
Shall
hear
,
and
dread
my
manly
Roar
.
See
Bounce
,
like
Berecynthia
,
crown'd
With
thund'ring
Offspring
all
around
,
Beneath
,
beside
me
,
and
a
top
,
A
hundred
Sons
!
and
not
one
Fop
.
Before
my
Children
set
your
Beef
,
Not
one
true
Bounce
will
be
a
Thief
;
Not
one
without
Permission
feed
,
(
Tho'
some
of
J—'s
hungry
Breed
)
But
whatsoe'er
the
Father's
Race
,
From
me
they
suck
a
little
Grace
.
While
your
fine
Whelps
learn
all
to
steal
,
Bred
up
by
Hand
on
Chick
and
Veal
.
My
Eldest-born
resides
not
far
,
Where
shines
great
Strafford's
glittering
Star
:
My
second
(
Child
of
Fortune
!
)
waits
At
Burlington's
Palladian
Gates
:
A
third
majestically
stalks
(
Happiest
of
Dogs
!
)
in
Cobham's
Walks
:
One
ushers
Friends
to
Bathurst's
Door
;
One
fawns
,
at
Oxford's
,
on
the
Poor
.
Nobles
,
whom
Arms
or
Arts
adorn
,
Wait
for
my
Infants
yet
unborn
.
None
but
a
Peer
of
Wit
and
Grace
,
Can
hope
a
Puppy
of
my
Race
.
And
O
!
wou'd
Fate
the
Bliss
decree
To
mine
(
a
Bliss
too
great
for
me
)
That
two
,
my
tallest
Sons
,
might
grace
Attending
each
with
stately
Pace
,
Iulus'
Side
,
as
erst
Evander's
,
Virg.
Aen.
VIII
.
To
keep
off
Flatt'rers
,
Spies
,
and
Panders
,
To
let
no
noble
Slave
come
near
,
And
scare
Lord
Fannys
from
his
Ear
:
Then
might
a
Royal
Youth
,
and
true
,
Enjoy
at
least
a
Friend
—
or
two
:
A
Treasure
,
which
,
of
Royal
kind
,
Few
but
Himself
deserve
to
find
.
Then
Bounce
(
'tis
all
that
Bounce
can
crave
)
Shall
wag
her
Tail
within
the
Grave
.
And
tho'
no
Doctors
,
Whig
or
Tory
ones
,
Except
the
Sect
of
Pythagoreans
,
Have
Immortality
assign'd
To
any
Beast
,
but
A
Milk-white
Hind
,
immortal
and
unchang'd
.
Ver.
I.
Of
the
Hind
and
Panther
.
Dryden's
Hind
:
Yet
Master
Pope
,
whom
Truth
and
Sense
Shall
call
their
Friend
some
Ages
hence
,
Tho'
now
on
loftier
Themes
he
sings
Than
to
bestow
a
Word
on
Kings
,
Has
sworn
by
Sticks
(
the
Poet's
Oath
,
And
Dread
of
Dogs
and
Poets
both
)
Man
and
his
Works
he'll
soon
renounce
,
And
roar
in
Numbers
worthy
Bounce
.
FINIS
.