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Alas! far leffer loffes than I bear,

Have made a Soldier figh, a Lover swear.
And Oh! what makes the disappointment hard,
'Twas my own Lord that drew the fatal ard,
In Complaifance, I took the Queen he gave ;
Tho' my own fecret wifh was for the Knave.
The Knave won Sonica, which I had chose;
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 whofe name I shed 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: 60 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 intʼrest, Cozens made her Stays. Ungrateful wretch, with mimic airs grown pert, 65 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.



How many Maids have SHARPER'S vows deceiv'd? How many curs'd the moment they believ'd? Yet his known Fallhoods could no Warning prove: Ah! what is warning to a Maid in Love?



But of what marble muft that breast be form'd, 75 To gaze on Baffet, and remain unwarm'd! When Kings, Queens, Knaves, are fet in decent ránk ; Expos'd in glorious heaps the tempting Bank, Guineas, Half-Guineas, all the shining train ; The Winner's pleafure, and the Lofer's pain: In bright Confufion open Rouleaus lye, They strike the Soul, and glitter in the Eye. Fir'd by the fight, all reafon I difdain ; My Paffions rife, and will not bear the rein, Look upon Baffet, you who Reason boast; And fee if Reafon mult not there be loft.



What more than marble muit that heart compofe, Can hearken coldly to my SHARPER'S Vows? Then, when he trembles! when his Blushes rise ! When awful Love feems melting in his Eyes! With eager beats his Mechlin Cravat moves : He Loves,-I whisper to myself, He Loves !

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Such unfeign'd Paffion in his Looks appears,
I lofe 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 boaft;
For fuch a moment, Prudence well were loft.


At the Groom-Porter's, batter'd Bullies play, Some DUKES at Mary-Bone bowl Time away. But who the Bowl, or ratt'ling Dice compares To Baffet's heav'nly Joys, and pleafing Cares?


Soft SIMPLICETTA doats 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.





Ceafe your contention, which has been too long; I grow impatient, and the Tea's too strong. Attend, and yield to what I now decide; The Equipage fhall grace SMILINDA's Side: The Snuff-Box to CARDELIA I decree, Now leave complaining, and begin your Tea.


Verbatim from BOILEAU.

Un Jour dit un Auteur, etc.

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NCE (fays our Author, where I need not fay) Two Travellers found an Oyster in their way; Both fierce, both hungry; the difpute grew ftrong, While Scale in hand Dame Juftice paft 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, fwallows it, before their fight. The cause of ftrife remov'd fo rarely well, There take (fays Juftice) 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 Mrs. Howε.



'Tis a Beldam,

Seen with Wit and Beauty seldom.
"Tis a fear that starts at shadows.
"Tis, (no, 'tisn't) like Mifs 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 the dies.
'Tis an ugly envious Shrew,

That rails at dear Lepell and You.

Occafioned by fome Verses of his Grace the Duke of BUCKING



USE, 'tis enough: at length thy labour ends,
And thou fhalt live, for Buckingham com-

Let Crowds of Critics now my verse affail,
Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail:

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