Alexander Pope (1688–1744). Complete Poetical Works. 1903.
Poems: 171317The Challenge
To the Tune of ‘To All You Ladies Now at Land,’ etc.
And two fair ladies in,
Who think the Turk and Pope a sport,
And wit and love no sin;
Come these soft lines, with nothing stiff in,
To Bellenden, Lepell, and Griffin.
With a fa, la, la.
And what behind the scene,
Couches and crippled chairs I know,
And garrets hung with green;
I know the swing of sinful hack,
Where many damsels cry alack.
With a fa, la, la.
Where ’s such ado with Townshend?
To hear each mortal stamp and swear,
And every speech with Zounds end;
To hear ’em rail at honest Sunderland,
And rashly blame the realm of Blunderland,
With a fa, la, la.
Like Grafton court the Germans;
Tell Pickenbourg how slim she ’s grown,
Like Meadows run to sermons;
To Court ambitious men may roam,
But I and Marlbro’ stay at home.
With a fa, la, la.
Of courtiers ’twixt you three,
Some wit you have, and more may learn
From Court, than Gay or me;
Perhaps, in time, you ’ll leave high diet,
To sup with us on milk and quiet.
With a fa, la, la.
With door all painted green,
Where ribbons wave upon the tie
(A milliner I mean),
There may you meet us three to three,
For Gay can well make two of me.
With a fa, la, la.
And each become a coward,
Bring sometimes with you lady Rich,
And sometimes mistress Howard;
For virgins to keep chaste must go
Abroad with such as are not so.
With a fa, la, la.
God send the King safe landing;
And make all honest ladies friends
To armies that are standing;
Preserve the limits of those nations,
And take off ladies’ limitations.
With a fa, la, la.