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HE Baffet-Table fpread, the Tallier come;
Rife, penfive Nymph, the Tallier waits for you:
Ah, Madam, fince my SHARPER is untrue,
I faw him ftand behind OMERELIA's Chair,
The Baffet-Table.] Only this of all the Town Eclogues was Mr. Pepe's; and is here printed from a copy corrected by his own land. The humour of it lies in this, that the one is in love with the Game, and the other with the Sharter.
Is this the cause of your Romantic strains?
Is that the grief, which you compare with mine; With eafe, the fimiles of Fortune I refign: Wall my gold in one bad Deal were gone; Wereldly SHARPER mine, and mine alone. 16
A Lover loft, is but a common care;
And prudent Nymphs against that change prepare: The KNAVE OF CLUBS thrice loft: Oh! who could guefs
This fatal ftroke, this unforeseen Distress? 20
See BETTY LOVET! very à propos,
She all the cares of Love and Play does know:
Tell, tell your griefs; attentive will I stay, Tho' Time is precious, and I want fome Tea.
Behold this Equipage, by Mathers wrought, 29 With Fifty Guineas (a great Pen'worth) bought, See on the Tooth-pick, Mars and Cupid strive; And both the struggling figures seem alive. Upon the bottom shines the Queen's bright Face; A Myrtle Foliage round the Thimble-Cafe. Jove, Jove himself, does on the Scizars shine; 35 The Metal, and the Workmanship, divine!
This Snuff-Box,---once the pledge of SHARP-
When rival beauties for the Present ftrove;
Then first his Paffion was in public shown:
A Rival's envy (all in vain) to hide.
This Snuff-Box,---on the Hinge fee Brilliants
This Snuff-Box will I ftake; the Prize is mine,
Alas! far leffer loffes than I bear,
Have made a Soldier figh, a Lover swear.
But ah! what aggravates the killing smart,
She, at whose name I shed these spiteful tears,
Ungrateful wretch, with mimic airs grown pert, She dares to steal my Fav'rite Lover's heart.
Wretch that I was, how often have I swore, When WINNALL tally'd, I would punt no more ? I know the Bite, yet to my Ruin run; And fee the Folly, which I cannot shun.
Maids have SHARPER'S Vows de
How many ceiv'd?
many curs'd the moment they believ'd? Yet his known Falfhoods could no Warning prove: Ah! what is warning to a Maid in Love?
But of what marble mut that breaft be form'd, To gaze on Bafet, and remain unwarm'd? 76 When Kings, Queens, Knaves, are fet in decent
Expos'd in glorious heaps the tempting Bank,
They strike the Soul, and glitter in the Eye.