ST. JAMES's Coffee-Houfe.
SILLIANDER and PATCH.
HOU, who fo many favours haft receiv'd,
Wond'rous to tell, and hard to be believ'd,
Oh! H-D, to my lays attention lend,
Hear how two lovers boaftingly contend;
Like thee successful, fuch their bloomy youth,
Renown'd alike for gallantry and truth.
St. JAMES'S bell had toll'd fome wretches in,
(As tatter'd riding-hoods alone could fin)
The happier finners now their charms put out,
And to their manteaus their complexions fuit;
opera queens had finished half their faces,
And city-dames already taken places;
Fops of all kinds, to fee the Lion, run;
The beauties stay till the first act's begun,
And beaux step home to put fresh linen on.
No well drefs'd youth in coffee-house remain'd,
But penfive PATCH, who on the window lean'd;
And SILLIANDER, that alert and gay,
First pick'd his teeth, and then began to fay.
Why all these fighs; ah! why so pensive grown?
Some cause there is why thus you fit alone.
Does hapless paffion all this forrow move?
Or doft thou envy where the ladies love?
If, whom they love, my envy must pursue, 'Tis fure, at least, I never envy you.
No, I'm unhappy, you are in the right,
'Tis you they favour, and 'tis me they flight.
Yet I cou'd tell, but that I hate to boast,
A club of ladies where 'tis me they toast.
PATCH.
Toasting does feldom any favour prove;
Like us, they never toast the thing they love.
A certain duke one night my health begun ;
With chearful pledges round the room it run,
Till the young SYLVIA, prefs'd to drink it too,
Started and vow'd she knew not what to do:
What, drink a fellow's health! she dy'd with fhame:
Yet blush'd whenever she pronounc'd my name.
SILLIANDER.
Ill fates pursue me, may I never find
The dice propitious, or the ladies kind,
If fair Mifs FLIPPY's fan I did not tear,
And one from me fhe condescends to wear.
Women are always ready to receive;
'Tis then a favour when the sex will give.
A lady (but she is too great to name)
Beauteous in person, spotless is her fame,
With gentle strugglings let me force this ring;
Another day may give another thing.
I cou'd fay fomething-fee this billet-douxAnd as for prefents-look upon my shoeThefe buckles were not forc'd, nor half a theft, But a young countess fondly made the gift.
My countess is more nice, more artful too,
Affects to fly, that I may fierce pursue:
This fnuff-box which I begg'd, fhe ftill deny'd,
And when I ftrove to fnatch it, feem'd to hide;
She laugh'd and fled, and as I fought to feize,
With affectation cram'd it down her stays;
Yet hop'd she did not place it there unfeen,
I prefs'd her breafts, and pull'd it from between.
SILLIANDER.
Laft night, as I ftood ogling of her grace,
Drinking delicious poifon from her face,
The foft enchantress did that face decline,
Nor ever rais'd her eyes to meet with mine;
With fudden art fome fecret did pretend,
Lean'd cross two chairs to whisper to a friend,
While the ftiff whalebone with the motion rose,
And thousand beauties to my fight expose.
Early this morn-(but I was ask'd to come) I drank bohea in CALIA's dreffing-room:
Warm from her bed, to me alone within,
Her night-gown faften'd with a fingle pin;
Her night-cloaths tumbled with refiftless grace,
And her bright hair play'd careless round her face;
Reaching the kettle made her gown unpin,
She wore no waistcoat, and her fhift was thin.
SILLIANDER.
See TITIANA driving to the park!
Hark! let us follow, 'tis not yet too dark;
In her all beauties of the spring are feen,
Her cheeks are rofy, and her mantle green.
PATCH.
See, TINTORETTA to the opera goes!
Hafte, or the crowd will not permit our bows;
In her the glory of the heav'ns we view,
Her eyes are ftar-like, and her mantle blue.
What colour does in CALIA's ftockings shine ?
Reveal that fecret, and the prize is thine.
What are her garters? tell me if you can ;
I'll freely own thee for the happier man.
Thus PATCH Continued his heroic strain, While SILLLANDER but contends in vain, After a conqueft fo important gain'd, Unrival'd PATCH in ev'ry ruelle reign'd.
No calm my care and mitigate my pain;
O, fair DANCINDA, no; you ftrive in vain
"If all my fighs, my cares, can fail to move,
"Ah! footh me not with fruitlefs vows of love."
Thus STREPHON fpoke. DANCINDA thus reply'd;
What must I do to gratify your pride?
Too well you know (ungrateful as thou art)
How much you triumph in this tender heart:
What proof of love remains for me to grant?
Yet ftill you tease me with fome new complaint.
Oh! would to heav'n !-but the fond wifh is vain-
Too
many favours had not made it plain !
But fuch a paffion breaks thro' all disguise,
Love reddens on my cheek and wishes in my eyes,
Is't not enough (inhuman and unkind!)
I own the fecret conflict of my mind;
|