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Divert her eyes with pictures in the fire,
Hum half a tune, tell stories to the squire;
Up to her godly garret after sev'n,
There starve and pray, for that's the way to heav'n.

Some Squire, perhaps, you take delight to rack : Whose game is Whisk, whose treat a toast in sack ; Who visits with a Gun, presents you birds, 25 Then gives a smacking buss, and cries,—No words! Or with his hound comes 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 best of all things—but his horse. 30

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 rise on ev'ry green ;
Before you pass th' imaginary sights
Of Lords, and Earls, and Dukes, and garter'd

While the spread fan o'ershades your closing eyes ;
Then give one Airt, and all the vision flies.
Thus vanish sceptres, coronets, and balls,
And leave you in lone woods, or empty walls ! 40

So when your Slave, at some dear idle time, (Not plagu'd with head-achs, or the want of rhyme) Stands in the streets, abstracted from the crew, And while he seems to study, thinks of you;


NOTES. Ver. 23. Squire,] No country Squire has ever been painted with such true and natural features and colours as Addison's Tory Foxhunter, in the Freeholder, except perhaps Western, in that capital picture of life, the History of Tom Jones.


Just when his fancy points your sprightly eyes, 45
Or sees the blush of soft Parthenia rise,
Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite,
Streets, Chairs, and Coxcombs rush upon my sight;
Vext to be still in town, I knit my brow,
Look sour, and hum a Tune, as you may now. 50

NOTES. Ver. 46. of soft Parthenia rise,] It does not seem perfectly gallant to introduce the name of another lady.





The Basset-Table spread, the Tallier come ; Why stays SMILinda in the Dressing-Room? Rise, pensive Nymph, the Tallier waits for you:

NOTES. Ver. 1. The Basset-Table spread,] There were six Town Eclogues; two written by Mr. Pope, and the rest by Lady Wortley Montague, whose fine genias and abilities are well known; and from whose hand I am glad to present the reader with the fol lowing Sonnet, preserved by Algarotti, in the seventh volume of his works :

“ Thou Silver Deity of secret night,

Direct my footsteps through the Woodland shade;
Thou conscious witness of unknown delight,

The Lover's Guardian, and the Muse's aid.
By thy pale beams I solitary rove,

To thee my tender grief confide;
Serenely sweet you gild the silent grove,

My friend, my goddess, and my guide.
Ev’n theo, fair Queen, fron thy amazing height

The charms of young Endymion drew,
Veild in the mantle of concealing night,

With all thy greatness, and thy coldness too!"


Ah, Madam, since my SHARPER is untrue,
I joyless make my once ador'd Alpeu.

I saw him stand behind OMBRELIA's Chair,
And whisper with that soft, deluding air,
And those feign'd sighs which cheat the list’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't;
One, one bad Deal, Three Septlevas have lost.



Is that the grief which you compare with mine? With ease, the smiles of Fortune I resign : Would all my gold in one bad Deal were gone ; 15 Were lovely SHARPER mine, and mine alone.

CARDELIA. A Lover lost is but a common care: And prudent Nymphs against that change prepare : The KNAVE OF Clubs thrice lost! Oh! who could

guess This fatal Stroke, this unforeseen Distress ? 20

See Betty Lover! very à propos,
She all the cares of Love and Play does know:
Dear Betty shall th' important point decide ;
Betty who oft the pain of each has try'd;
Impartial, she shall say who suffers most,
By Cards' In Usage, or by Lovers lost.

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Tell, tell your griefs ; attentive will I stay,
Tho' Time is precious, and I want some Tea.


Behold this Equipage, by Mathers wrought, With Fifty Guineas (a great Pen’worth) bought. 30 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-Case. Jove, Jove himself, does on the Scissors shine; 35 The Metal, and the Workmanship, divine!


This Snuff-Box,—once the pledge of SHARPER'S

love, When rival beauties for the Present strove ; At Corticelli's he the Ruffle won ; Then first his Passion was in public shewn: 40 HAZARDIA blush'd, and turn'd her head aside, A Rival's envy (all in vain) to hide. This Snuff-Box-on the Hinge see Brilliants shine: This Snuff-Bor will I stake; the Prize is mine.

Alas! far lesser losses than I bear,

45 Have made a Soldier sigh, a Lover swear. And Oh! what makes the disappointment hard, 'Twas my own Lord that drew the fatal Card.''

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