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 fmacking 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 jests are coarse,
And loves you beft of all things-but his horse.
In some fair ev'ning, on your elbow laid,
You dream of Triumphs in the rural shade;
In pensive thought recall the fancy'd scene,
See Coronations rife 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 vifion 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 streets, abftracted from the crew,
And while he feems to ftudy, thinks of you;
Just when his fancy points your sprightly 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? Rife, penfive Nymph, the Tallier waits for you.
Ah, Madam, fince my SHARPER is untrue,
I joyless make my once ador'd Alpeu.
I saw him ftand behind OMBRELIA'S Chair,
And whisper with that soft, deluding air,
And thofe feign'd' fighs which cheat the lift'ning
Fair.
Is this the cause of your romantic strains ?
A mightier grief my heavy heart sustains.
As You by Love, so 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; 15 Were lovely SHARPER mine, and mine alone.
CARDELIA.
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 Distress?
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 most,
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.
Behold this Equipage, by Mathers wrought,
With Fifty Guineas (a great Pen'worth) bought.
See, on the Toothpick, Mars and Cupid strive;
And both the struggling figures feem alive.
Upon the bottom fhines 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!
This Snuff-box,-once the pledge of SHARPER'S love,
When rival beauties for the Prefent ftrove;
At Corticelli's he the Raffle won;
Then firft his Paffion was in public shown:
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 fhine:
This Snuff-box will I ftake; the Prize is mine.
CARDELIA.
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 wifh was for the Knave.
The Knave won Sonica, which I had chofe;
And the next Pull, my Septleva I lofe.
But ah! what aggravates the killing smart,
The cruel thought, that ftabs me to the heart;
This curs'd OMBRELIA, this undoing Fair,
By whofe vile arts this heavy grief I bear;
She, at whose name I shed these spiteful tears,
She owes to me the very charms she wears.
An aukward Thing, when first 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 swore,
When WINNALL tally'd, I would punt no more?
I know the Bite, yet to my Ruin run;
And see the Folly, which I cannot shun.
How many Maids have SHARPER'S vows deceiv'd? How many curs'd the moment they believ'd? Yet his known Falfehoods could no Warning prove : Ah! what is warning to a Maid in Love?
But of what marble must that breaft be form'd, 75 To gaze on Bafset, and remain unwarm'd ?
When Kings, Queens, Knaves, are fet in decent rank;
Expos'd in glorious heaps the tempting Bank,
Guineas, Half-guineas, all the fhining train;
The Winner's pleasure, and the Lofer's pain:
In bright confufion open Rouleaus lie,
They strike the Soul, and glitter in the Eye.
Fir'd by the fight, all Reason I disdain ;
My Paffions rife, and will not bear the rein.
Look upon Baffet, you who Reason boast;
And fee if Reafon muft not there be loft.
What more than marble must that heart compose,
Can hearken coldly to my SHARPER'S VOWS?
Then, when he trembles! when his Blushes rife!
When awful Love feems melting in his Eyes!
With eager beats his Mechlin Cravat moves:
He loves,-I whisper to myself, He loves!
Such unfeign'd Paffion in his looks appears,
I lose all Mem❜ry of my former Fears;
My panting heart confeffes all his charms,
I yield at once, and fink into his arms.
Think of that moment, you who Prudence boast;
For fuch a moment, Prudence well were loft.
At the Groom-Porter's, batter'd Bullies play, Some DUKES at Marybone bowl Time away.
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