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 poetic 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.