# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/A Pastoral Dialogue between Richmond Lodge and Marble Hill

A PASTORAL DIALOGUE
WRITTEN AFTER THE NEWS OF THE KING'S DEATH.
IN spite of Pope, in spite of Gay, And all that he or they can say; Sing on I must, and sing I will Of Richmond Lodge and Marble Hill. Last Friday night, as neighbours use, This couple met to talk of news: For, by old proverbs it appears, That walls have tongues, and hedges ears.
MARBLE HILL.
Quoth Marble Hill, right well I ween, Your mistress now is grown a queen: ​You'll find it soon by woeful proof; She'll come no more beneath your roof.
RICHMOND LODGE.
The kingly prophet well evinces, That we should put no trust in princes: My royal master promis’d me To raise me to a high degree; But now he's grown a king, God wot, I fear I shall be soon forgot. You see, when folks have got their ends, How quickly they neglect their friends; Yet I may say, 'twixt me and you, Pray God, they now may find as true!
MARBLE HILL.
My house was built but for a show, My lady's empty pockets know; And now she will not have a shilling, To raise the stairs, or build the ceiling; For all the courtly madams round Now pay four shillings in the pound; 'Tis come to what I always thought: My dame is hardly worth a groat. Had you and I been courtiers born, We should not thus have lain forlorn: For those we dextrous courtiers call, Can rise upon their masters' fall. But we, unlucky and unwise, Must fall because our masters rise.
RICHMOND LODGE.
My master, scarce a fortnight since, Was grown as wealthy as a prince; ​But now it will be no such thing, For he'll be poor as any king: And by his crown will nothing get, But like a king to run in debt.
MARBLE HILL.
No more the dean, that grave divine, Shall keep the key of my no — wine; My ice house rob, as heretofore, And steal my artichokes no more; Poor Patty Blount no more be seen Bedraggled in my walks so green: Plump Johnny Gay will now elope: And here no more will dangle Pope.
RICHMOND LODGE.
Here wont the dean, when he's to seek, To spunge a breakfast once a week; To cry the bread was stale, and mutter Complaints against the royal butter. But now I fear it will be said, No butter sticks upon his bread. We soon shall find him full of spleen, For want of tattling to the queen; Stunning her royal ears with talking; His reverence and her highness walking: While lady Charlotte, like a stroller, Sits mounted on the garden-roller. A goodly sight to see her ride With ancient Mirmont at her side. In velvet cap his head lies warm; His hat for show beneath his arm.
MARBLE HILL.
Some South Sea broker from the city Will purchase me, the more's the pity; Lay all my fine plantations waste, To fit them to his vulgar taste; Chang'd for the worse in every part, My master Pope will break his heart.
RICHMOND LODGE.
In my own Thames may I be drownded, If e'er I stoop beneath a crown'd head: Except her majesty prevails To place me with the prince of Wales; And then I shall be free from fears, For he'll be prince these fifty years. I then will turn a courtier too, And serve the times, as others do. Plain loyalty, not built on hope, I leave to your contriver, Pope: None loves his king and country better, Yet none was ever less their debtor.
MARBLE HILL.
Then let him come and take a nap In summer on my verdant lap: Prefer our villas, where the Thames is, To Kensington, or hot St. James's; Nor shall I dull in silence sit; For 'tis to me he owes his wit; My groves, my echoes, and my birds, Have taught him his poetick words. We gardens, and you wildernesses, Assist all poets in distresses. ​Him twice a week I here expect, To rattle Moody for neglect; An idle rogue, who spends his quartridge In tippling at the Dog and Partridge; And I can hardly get him down Three times a week to brush my gown.
RICHMOND LODGE.
I pity you, dear Marble Hill; But hope to see you flourish still. All happiness — and so adieu.
MARBLE HILL.
Kind Richmond Lodge, the same to you.
* ↑ George I, who died after a short sickness by eating a melon, at Osnabrug, in his way to Hanover, June 11, 1727. — The poem was carried to court, and read to king George II and queen Caroline.
* ↑ Lady Charlotte de Roussy, a French lady.
* ↑ Marquis de Mirinont, a Frenchman of quality.
* ↑ The gardener.