BOUNCE TO FOP. Alexander Pope Jonathan Swift Alexander Huber Editor Bodleian Libraries, University of Oxford
Broad Street Oxford OX1 3BG UK
Eighteenth-Century Poetry Archive
Taylor Institution Library St Giles' Oxford OX1 3NA UK info@eighteenthcenturypoetry.org https://www.eighteenthcenturypoetry.org/
Oxford This work is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution-ShareAlike 3.0 Unported License. T5522 B326 K023014.000 Pope, Alexander, 1688-1744. Swift, Jonathan, 1667-1745. Bounce to Fop: An heroick epistle from a dog at Twickenham to a dog at court. By Dr. S----t. [London] Dublin, printed, London, reprinted for T. Cooper 1736 pp. 5-11. 11,[1]p. ; 2⁰.

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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 .