[Footnote 10:  These lines are thought to allude to some story concerning a vast quantity of mahogany declared rotten, and then applied by somebody to wainscots, stairs, door-cases, etc.—­Dublin edition.]

[Footnote 11:  He hath practised this trade for many years, and still continues it with success; and after he hath ruined one lord, is earnestly solicited to take another.—­Dublin edition.  Properly Walter, a dexterous and unscrupulous attorney. 
  “Wise Peter sees the world’s respect for gold,
  And therefore hopes this nation may be sold.” 
POPE, Moral Essays, Epist. iii.  And see his character fully displayed in Sir Chas. Hanbury Williams’ poem, “Peter and my Lord Quidam,” Works, with notes, edit. 1822.  Peter was the original of Peter Pounce in Fielding’s “Joseph Andrews.”—­W.  E. B.]

[Footnote 12:  Sir Robert Walpole, who was called Sir Robert Brass.]

[Footnote 13:  King George I, who died on the 12th June, 1727.—­W.  E. B.]

[Footnote 14:  Sir Spencer Compton, Speaker of the House of Commons, afterwards created Earl of Wilmington.  George II, on his accession to the throne, intended that Compton should be Prime Minister, but Walpole, through the influence of the queen, retained his place, Compton having confessed “his incapacity to undertake so arduous a task.”  As Lord Wilmington, he is constantly ridiculed by Sir Chas. Hanbury Williams.  See his Works, with notes by Horace Walpole, edit. 1822.—­W.  E. B.]

TO A LADY
WHO DESIRED THE AUTHOR TO WRITE SOME VERSES UPON HER
IN THE HEROIC STYLE

After venting all my spite,
Tell me, what have I to write? 
Every error I could find
Through the mazes of your mind,
Have my busy Muse employ’d,
Till the company was cloy’d. 
Are you positive and fretful,
Heedless, ignorant, forgetful? 
Those, and twenty follies more,
I have often told before. 
  Hearken what my lady says: 
Have I nothing then to praise? 
Ill it fits you to be witty,
Where a fault should move your pity. 
If you think me too conceited,
Or to passion quickly heated;
If my wandering head be less
Set on reading than on dress;
If I always seem too dull t’ye;
I can solve the diffi—­culty. 
  You would teach me to be wise: 
Truth and honour how to prize;
How to shine in conversation,
And with credit fill my station;
How to relish notions high;
How to live, and how to die. 
  But it was decreed by Fate—­
Mr. Dean, you come too late. 
Well I know, you can discern,
I am now too old to learn: 
Follies, from my youth instill’d,
Have my soul entirely fill’d;
In my head and heart they centre,
Nor will let your lessons enter. 
  Bred a fondling and an heiress;
Drest like any lady mayoress: 
Cocker’d by the servants round,
Was too good to touch the ground;
Thought the life of every lady