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On her leaving the Town after the CORONATION.
AS fome fond Virgin, whom her Mother's care
Drags from the Town to wholesome Country air,
Just when she learns to roll a melting eye,
And hear a spark, yet think no danger nigh;
From the dear man unwilling she must fever,
Yet takes one kifs before fhe parts for ever:
Thus from the world fair Zephalinda flew,
Saw others happy, and with fighs withdrew ;
Not that their pleasures caus'd her discontent,
She figh'd not that they ftaid, but that she went.
She went to plain-work, and to purling brooks,
Old-fashion'd halls, dull Aunts, and croaking rooks:
She went from Op'ra, Park, Affembly, Play,
To morning-walks, and pray'rs three hours a-day;
To part her time 'twixt reading and Bohea,
To mufe, and fpill her folitary tea,
Or o'er cold coffee trifle with the spoon,
Count the flow clock, and dine exact at noon;
Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Hum half a tune, tell ftories to the 'Squire;
Up to her godly garret after seven,
There ftarve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n.
Coronation] Of King George the First, 1715.
Some 'Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack;
Whofe game is Whift, whose treat a toast in fack;
Who vifits with a gun, prefents you birds,
Then gives a smacking bufs, and cries,--No words!
Or with his hounds come hallooing from the stable,
Makes love with nods, and knees beneath a table;
Whose laughs are hearty, tho' his jefts are coarse,
And loves you beft of all things-but his horfe.
In fome fair ev'ning, on your elbow laid,
You dream of Triumphs in the rural shade;
In penfive thought recall the fancy'd scene,
See Coronations rise on ev'ry green ;
Before you pass th' imaginary fights
Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd Knights,
While the spread fan o'erfhades your clofing eyes;
Then give one flirt, and all the vision flies.
Thus vanish fceptres, coronets, and balls,
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls!
So when your Slave, at fome dear idle time,
(Not plagu❜d with head-achs, or the want of rhyme)
Stands in the ftreets, abftracted from the crew,
And while he feems to study, thinks of you;
Just when his fancy points your fprightly eyes,
Or fees the blush of foft Parthenia rise,
Gay pats my fhoulder, and you vanish quite,
Streets, Chairs, and Coxcombs rufh upon my fight;
Vex'd to be ftill in town, I knit my brow,
Look four, and hum a Tune, as you may now.
THE Baffet-Table spread, the Tallier come;
Why ftays SMILINDA in the Dreffing-Room? Rise, penfive Nymph, the Tallier waits for you.
Ah, Madam, fince my SHARPER is untrue,
I joylefs make my once ador'd Alpeu.
I faw him ftand behind OM BRELIA's Chair,
And whisper with that foft, deluding air,
And thofe feign'd fighs which cheat the lift'ning
CARDE LI A.
Is this the cause of your romantic strains?
A mightier grief my heavy heart fuftains.
As You by Love, fo I by Fortune cross'd;
One, one bad Deal, Three Septlevas have loft.
Is that the grief, which you compare with mine?
With ease, the smiles of Fortune I refign:
The Baffet-Table.] Only this of all the Town Eclogues was Mr. Pope's; and is here printed from a copy corrected by his own hand. The humour of it lies in this, that the one is in love with the Game, and the other with the Sharper.
Would all my gold in one bad Deal were gone;
Were lovely SHARPER mine, and mine alone.
A lover loft, is but a common care; And prudent Nymphs against that change prepare : The KNAVE OF CLUBS thrice loft! Oh! who could
This fatal ftroke, this unforeseen Diftrefs?
See BETTY LOVET! very à propos,
She all the cares of Love and Play does know :
Dear BETTY fhall th' important point decide;
BETTY, who oft the pain of each has try'd;
Impartial, fhe fhall fay who fuffers moft,
By Cards' Ill-Ufage, or by Lovers loft.
Tell, tell your griefs; attentive will I ftay, Tho' time is precious, and I want fome Tea.
CARDE LI A.
Behold this Equipage, by Mathers wrought,
With Fifty Guineas (a great Pen'worth) bought.
See, on the Toothpick, Mars and Cupid ftrive;
And both the struggling figures feem alive.
Upon the bottom shines the Queen's bright Face;
A Myrtle Foliage round the Thimble-Cafe;
Jove, Jove himself does on the Sciffars fhine;
The Metal, and the Workmanship, divine!
When rival beauties for the Prefent ftrove;
At Corticelli's he the Raffle won;
Then first his Paffion was in public _fhown:
This Snuff-box, once the pledge of SHARPER'S
HAZARDIA blush'd, and turn'd her head aside,
A Rival's envy (all in vain) to hide.
This Snuff-box,-on the Hinge fee Brilliants shine:
This Snuff-box will I ftake; the Prize is mine.
Alas! far leffer loffes than I bear,
Have made a Soldier figh, a Lover fwear.
And Oh! what makes the disappointment hard,
'Twas my own Lord that drew the fatal Card.
In complaifance, I took the Queen he gave;
Tho' my own fecret wish was for the Knave.
The Knave won Sonica, which I had chose ;
And the next Pull, my Septleva I lose.
But ah! what aggravates the killing smart,
The cruel thought, that stabs me to the heart;
This curs'd OM BRELIA, this undoing Fair,
By whofe vile arts this heavy grief I bear;
She, at whofe name I fhed these spiteful tears,
She owes to me the very charms she wears.
An aukward Thing, when firft fhe came to Town;
Her shape unfashion'd, and her Face unknown:
She was my friend; I taught her first to spread
Upon her fallow cheeks enliv'ning red :-
I introduc'd her to the Park and Plays;
And by my int'reft, Cozens made her Stays.
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 fwore,
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.