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Dear Betty shall the’ important point decide;
Lov. Tell, tell your griefs, attentive will I stay, Though time is precious, and I want some tea. CARD. Behold this equipage, by Mathers
wrought, With fifty guineas (a great penn'worth) bought. See on the toothpick 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 scissars shine, The metal and the workmanship divine. SMIL. This snuff-box - once the pledge of
Sharper's love, When rival beauties for the present strove;' At Corticelli's he the raffle won; Then first his passion 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 see brilliants shine, This snuff-box will I stake the prize is mine.
CARD. Alas! far lesser losses than I bear Have made a soldier sigh, a lover swear, And, oh! what makes the disappointment hard, 'Twas my own lord that drew the fatal card. In complaisance I took the queen he gave, Though my own secret wish was for the knave: The knave won sonica, which I had chose, And the next pull my septleva I lose. SMIL, But, ah! what aggravates the killing
smart, The cruel thought that stabs me to the heart;
This cursed Ombrelia, this undoing fair,
deceived boring How many cursed the moment they believed ? Yet his known falsehoods could no warning prove; Ah! what is warning to a maid in love ? [form’d,
CARD. But of what marble must that breast be To gaze on basset and remain unwarm’d? When kings, queens, knaves, are setin decentrank, Exposed in glorious heaps, the tempting bank, Guineas, half-guineas, all the shining train, The winner's pleasure, and the loser's pain ; In bright confusion open rouleaus lie, They strike the soul, and glitter in the eye: Fired by the sight, all reason I disdain, My passions rise, and will not bear the rein. Look upon basset, you who reason boast, And see if reason must not there be lost.
SMIL. What more than marble must that heart
Smil. Soft Simplicetta dotes upon a beau;
VERBATIM FROM BOILEAU.
Un jour, dit un auteur, &c.
ONCE (says an author, where I need not say)
THE FOLLOWING QUESTION OF MRS. HOWE.
'Tis a beldam,
HIS GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM. Muse, 'tis enough, at length thy labour ends, And thou shalt live, for Buckingham commends. Let crowds of critics now my verse assail, Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail ; This more than pays whole years of thankless pain; Time, health, and fortune, are not lost in vain. Sheffield approves, consenting Phoebus bends, And I and Malice from this hour are friends.
A PROLOGUE TO A PLAY FOR MR. DENNIS'S BENEFIT, in 1733, WHEN HE WAS OLD, BLIND, AND IN GREAT DIS
TRESS, A LITTLE BEFORE HIS DEATH. As when that hero, who in each campaign Had braved the Goth, and many a Vandal slain, Lay fortune-struck, a spectacle of woe! Wept by each friend, forgiven by every foe; Was there a generous, a reflecting mind, But pitied Belisarius old and blind? Was there a chief, but melted at the sight? A common soldier, but who clubb’d his mite? Such, such emotions should in Britons rise, When press’d by want and weakness Dennis lies; Dennis ! who long had warr'd with modern Huns, Their quibbles routed, and defied their puns;