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And Oh! what makes the difappointment 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 chose;
And the next Pull, my Septleva I lofe.

SMILIND A.

But ah! what aggravates the killing fmart, 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 fhed these spiteful tears, She owes to me the very charms she wears. An aukward Thing, when first she 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 :

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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, 65
She dares to steal my Fav'rite Lover's heart.

CARDELIA.

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 fee the Folly, which I cannot shun.

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SMILIND A.

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

CARDELIA.

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But of what marble must that breast be form'd, 75 To gaze on Baffet, 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 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 reason I disdain ; My Paffions rife, and will not bear the rein, Look upon Baffet, you who Reafon boast; And fee if Reason must not there be loft..

SMILIND A.

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What more than marble must that heart compofe, 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 whifper to myfelf, He Loves!

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Such unfeign'd Passion 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.

CARDELIA.

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 Ballet's heav'nly Joys, and pleasing Cares?

SMILIND A.

Soft SIMPLICETTA doats upon a Beau; PRUDINA likes a Man, and laughs at Show. Their feveral graces in my SHARPER meet; Strong as the Footman, as the Mafter sweet.

LOVE T:

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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.

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Verbatim from BOILEAU.

O

Un Jour dit un Auteur, &c.

NCE (fays our Author, where I need not fay) Two Travellers found an Oyster in their way; Both fierce, both hungry; the dispute grew strong, While Scale in hand Dame Justice past along. Before her each with clamour pleads the Laws, Explain'd the matter and would win the caufe. Dame Juftice weighing long the doubtful Right, Takes, opens, fwallows it, before their fight. The caufe of ftrife remov'd fo rarely well, There take (fays Justice) take ye each a Shell. We thrive at Westminster on Fools like you: 'Twas a fat Oyfter-Live in peace-Adieu.

ANSWER to the following Question of Mrs How E.

HAT is PRUDERY?

WHAT

'Tis a Beldam,

Seen with Wit and Beauty seldom.
'Tis a fear that ftarts at fhadows.
"Tis, (no, 'tisn't) like Mifs Meadows.
'Tis a Virgin hard of Feature,
Old, and void of all good nature;
Lean and fretful; would feem wife;
Yet plays the fool before the dies.
'Tis an ugly envious Shrew,

That rails at dear Lepell and You,

Occafioned by fome Verfes of his Grace The Duke of BUCKINGHAM.

M

USE, 'tis enough: at length thy labour ends, And thou shalt live, for Buckingham commends.

Let Crowds of Critics now my verse assail,

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Let Dennis write, and nameless numbers rail:
This more than pays whole years of thankless pain,
Time, health, and fortune are not loft in vain.
Sheffield approves, confenting Phoebus bends,
And I and Malice from this hour are friends.

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