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And boldly, when his country is at stake,
Braves the deep gulph, like Curtius, for its fake.
Quickly again distress'd for want of coin,
He digs no longer in th' exhausted mine ;
But seeks preferment, as the last resort,
Cringes each morn at levees, bows at court,
And from the hand he hates implores support:
The minister, well pleas’d at small expence
To silence so much rude impertinence,
With squeeze and whisper yields to his demands,
And on the venal lift enroll'd he stands ;
A ribband and a pension by the flave,
This bribes the fool about him, that the knave.
And now arriv'd at his meridian glory,
He sinks apace, despis'd by Whig and Tory;
Of independence now he talks no more,
Nor shakes the senate with his patriot roar,
But filent votes, and with court trappings hung,
Eyes his own glitt'ring star, and holds his tongue.
In craft political a bankrupt made,
He sticks to gaming, as the furer trade ;
Turns downright sharper, lives by fucking blood,
And grows, in short, the very thing he wou'd :
Hunts out young heirs, who have their fortunes spent,
And lends them ready cash at cent. per cent. ;
Lays wagers on his own and others lives,
Fights uncles, fathers, grandmothers and wives;
Till death at length, indignant to be made
The daily fubject of his sport and trade,
Veils with his fable hand the wretch's eyes,
And, groaning for the betts he loses by't, dics.
KILL'D in each art, that can adorn the fair.,
The sprightly dance, the soft Italian air,
The tofs of quality, and high-bred fleer,
Now lady Harriot reach'd her fifteenth year.
Wing’d with diversions all her moments flew,
Each, as it pass’d, presenting something new;
Breakfasts and auctions wear the morn away,
Each ev'ning, gives an opera, 'or a play ;
Then Brag's eternal joys all night remain,
And kindly usher in the morn again.
For love no time has she, or inclination,
Yet must coquet it for the sake of fashion ;
For this she listens to each fop that's near,
Th' embroider'd col'nel flatters with a sneer,
And the cropt ensign nuzzles in her ear.
But with most warmth her dress and airs inspire
Th’ambitious bofom of the landed squire,
Who fain would quit plump Dolly's softer charms
For wither'd lean right honourable arms;
He bows with rey'rence at her facred shrine,
And treats her as if sprung from race divine,
Which she returns with infolence and scorn,
Nor deigns to smile on a plebeian born..
• Ere long by friends, by cards, and lovers cross'd,
Her fortune, health, and reputation lost:
Her money gone, yet not a tradesinan paid;
Her fame, yet she still damn'd to be a maid;
Her spirits fink, her nerves are so unftrung,
She weeps, if but a handsome thief is hung:
By mercers, lacemen, mantua-makers press’d,
But most for ready cash for play distress'd,
Where can she turn ?-the squire must all repair,
She condescends to listen to his pray'r,
And marries him at length in mere despair.
But soon th' endearments of a husband cloy,
Her soul, her frame incapable of joy:
She feels no transports in the bridal bed,
Of which so oft Th' has heard, so much has read;
Then vex'd, that she should be condemn'd alone
To seek in vain this philosophic stone,
To abler tutors she resolves t'apply,
A prostitute from curiosity:
Hence men of ev'ry fort, and ev'ry size,
Impatient for heav'n's cordial drop, she tries;
The fribbling beau, the rough unweildy clown,
The ruddy templar newly on the town,
Th' Hibernian captain of gigantic make,
The brimful parson, and th' exhausted rake.
But still malignant fate her wish denies, Cards yield superior joys, to cards the flies ; All night froni rout to rout her cliairmen runt, Again the plays, and is again undone.
Behold her now in Ruin's frightful jaws !
Bonds, judgments, executions, ope their paws,
Seize jewels, furniture, and plate, nor spare
The gilded chariot, or the taffel'd chair,
T'or lonely fcat she's fore'd to quit the town,
And Tubbs conveys the wretched exile down.
Now rumbling o'er the stones of Tyburn-road,
Ne'er press’d with a more griev'd or guilty load,
She bids adieu to all the well-known streets,
And envies ev'ry cinder-wench she meets ::
And now the dreaded country first appears,
With fighs unfeign'd the dying noise she hears.
Of diftant coaches faïnter by degrees,
Then starts, and trembles at the fight of trees.
Silent and sullen, like some captive queen,
She's drawn along, unwilling to be seen,
Until at length appears the ruin'd hall
Within the grafs-green moat, and ivy'd wall,
The doleful prison where for ever she,
But not, alas ! her griefs, must bury'd be.
Her coach the curate and the tradesınen meet,
Great-coated tenants her arrival greet,
And boys with stubble bonfires light the street,
While bells her ears with tongues discordant grate,
Types of the nuptial ties they celebrate :
But no rejoicings can unbend her brow,
Nor deigns she to return one awkward bow,
But bounces in disdaining once to speak,
And wipes the trickling tear from off her cheek.
Now see her in the fad decline of life,
A peevish mistress, and a sulky wife;
Her nerves unbrac'd, her faded cheek grown pale
With many a real, many a fancy'd ail;
Of cards, admirers, equipage bereft,
Her insolence and title only left;
Severely humbled to her one-horse chair,
And the low pastimes of a country-fair :
Too wretched to endure one lonely day,
Too proud one friendly visit to repay,
Too indolent to read, too criminal to pray.
At length half-dead, half mad, and quite confin'd,
Shunning, and shunn'd by all of human kind,
Ev'n robb'd of the laft comfort of her life,
Infulting the poor curate's callous wife,
Pride, disappointed pride, now stops her breath,
And with true fcorpion rage she stings herself to death.