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And oh! what makes the disappointment hard,
'Twas my own lord that drew the fatal card.
In complaisance I took the queen he gave,
Though my own secret wish was for the knave.
The knave won sonica, which I had chose,
And the next pull my septleva I lose.
Smil. But ah! what aggravates the killing
The cruel thought that stabs me to the heart,
This curs’d Ombrelia, this undoing fair,
By whose vile arts this heary grief I bear,
She, at whose name I shed these spiteful tears,
She owes to me the very charms she wears.
An awkward thing when first she came to town,
Her shape unfashion'd, and her face unknown:
She was my friend; I taught her first to spread
Upon her sallow cheeks enlivening red;
I introduc'd her to the park and plays,
And by my interest Cozens made her stays.
Ungrateful wretch! with mimic airs grown pert,
She dares to steal my favourite lover's heart.
CARD. Wretch that I was, how often have I swore, When Winnall tallied, I would punt no more ! I know the bite, yet to my ruin run, And see the folly which I cannot shun. Smil. How many maids have Sharper's vows
deceiv'd ? How many curs’d the moment they believ'd? Yet his known falsehoods could no warning prove. Ah! what is warning to a maid in love?
CARD. But of what marble must that breast
be form’d, To gaze on Basset, and remain unwarm'd ? When kings, queens, knaves, are set in decent rank, Expos’d in glorious heaps the tempting bank, Guineas, half-guineas, all the shining train, The winner's pleasure, and the loser's pain. In bright confusion open rouleaus lie, They strike the soul, and glitter in the eye: Fir'd by the sight, all reason I disdain, My passions rise, and will not bear the rein. Look upon Basset, you who reason boast, And see if reason must not there be lost. SMIL. What more than marble must that heart
compose Can harken coldly to my Sharper's vows ? Then when he trembles! when his blushes rise ! When awful love seems melting in his eyes ! With eager beats his Mechlin cravat moves : He loves—I whisper to myself, He loves ! Such unfeign'd passion in his looks appears, I lose all memory of my former fears ; My panting heart confesses all his charms, I yield at once, and sink into his arms. Think of that moment, you who prudence boast ; For such a moment prudence well were lost.
CARD. At the Groom-porter's batter'd bullies play, Some dukes at Mary-bone bowl time away ; But who the bowl or rattling dice compares To Basset's heavenly joys and pleasing cares?
Smil. Soft Simplicetta dotes upon a beau ; Prudina likes a man, and laughs at show: Their several graces in my Sharper meet, Strong as the footman, as the master sweet. Lov. Cease your contention, which has been
I grow impatient, and the tea's too strong.
Attend, and yield to what I now decide;
The equipage shall grace Smilinda's side ;
The snuffbox to Cardelia I decree;
Now leave complaining, and begin your tea.
Un jour dit un auteur, &c.
ONCE (says an author, where I need not say)
Two travellers found an oyster in their way :
Both fierce, both hungry, the dispute grew strong,
While, scale in hand, dame Justice pass'd along.
Before her each with clamour pleads the laws,
Explain’d the matter, and would win the cause.
Dame Justice weighing long the doubtful right,
Takes, opens, swallows it before their sight.
The cause of strife remov'd so rarely well,
“There take, (says Justice) take ye each a shell.
We thrive at Westminster on fools like
you: 'Twas a fat oyster-live in peace-Adieu."
ANSWER TO THE FOLLOWING QUESTION OF
WHAT is prudery?
'Tis a beldam,
Seen with wit and beauty seldom.
'Tis a fear that starts at shadows;
'Tis (no, 'tis n't) like Miss Meadows.
'Tis a virgin hard of feature,
Old, and void of all good nature;
Lean and fretful; would seem wise,
Yet plays the fool before she dies.
'Tis an ugly envious shrew,
That rails at dear Lepell1 and you.
LINES OCCASIONED BY SOME VERSES OF HIS
GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
MUSE, 'tis enough, at length thy labour ends,
And thou shalt live, for Buckingham commends.
Let crowds of critics now my verse assail,
Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail ;
This more than
of thankless pain; Time, health, and fortune, are not lost in vain. Sheffield approves, consenting Phoebus bends, And I and malice from this hour are friends.
1 Miss Lepell, maid of honour to Queen Caroline, and afterwards Lady Hervey. VOL. II.
PROLOGUE TO MR. ADDISON'S CATO.
To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
To raise the genius, and to mend the heart ;
To make mankind, in conscious virtue bold,
Live o'er each scene, and be what they behold-
For this the tragic Muse first trod the stage,
Commanding tears to stream through every age;
Tyrants no more their savage nature kept,
And foes to virtue wonder'd how they wept.
Our author shuns by vulgar springs to move
The hero's glory, or the virgin's love;
In pitying love, we but our weakness show,
And wild ambition well deserves its woe.
Here tears shall flow from a more generous cause,
Such tears as patriots shed for dying laws.
He bids your breasts with ancient ardour rise,
And calls forth Roman drops from British eyes:
Virtue confess'd in human shape he draws,
What Plato thought, and godlike Cato was:
No common object to your sight displays,
But what with pleasure Heaven itself surveys,
A brave man struggling in the storms of fate,
And greatly falling with a falling state.
While Cato gives his little senate laws,
What bosom beats not in his country's cause?
Who sees him act, but envies every
deed ? Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed?