« ForrigeFortsæt »
HE Baffet-Table spread, the Tallier come; Why stays SMILINDA in the Dreffing-Room? Rife, penfive Nymph, the Tallier waits for you:
Ah, Madam, fince my SHARPER is untrue, I joyless make my once ador'd Alpeu.
I faw him ftand behind OмBRELIA'S Chair,
VER. 1. The Baffet-Table Spread,] There were fix Town Eclogues; two written by Mr. Pope, and the reft by Lady Wortley Montague, whose fine genius and abilities are well-known; and from whose hand I am glad to present the reader with the following Sonnet, preferved by Algarotti, in the feventh volume of his works: "Thou Silver Deity of fecret night,
Direct my footsteps through the Woodland fhade;
The Lover's Guardian, and the Muse's aid.
Is this the cause of your Romantic strains?
Is that the grief which you compare with mine? With ease, the smiles of Fortune I refign:
Would all my gold in one bad Deal were gone; 15 Were lovely SHARPER mine, and mine alone.
A Lover loft, is but a common care :
And prudent Nymphs against that change prepare: The KNAVE OF CLUBS thrice loft! Oh! who could
This fatal Stroke, this unforeseen Distress?
By thy pale beams I folitary rove,
To thee my tender grief confide;
Serenely fweet you gild the filent grove,
My friend, my goddess, and my guide.
With all thy greatnefs, and thy coldness too!"
See BETTY LOVET! very à propos,
Tell, tell your griefs; attentive will I stay, Tho' Time is precious, and I want fome 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 feem alive. Upon the bottom fhines the Queen's bright Face; A Myrtle Foliage round the Thimble-Cafe.
Jove, Jove himself, does on the Sciffars fhine ; 35 The Metal, and the Workmanship, divine!
This Snuff-Box,-once the pledge of SHARPER'S
When rival beauties for the Present ftrove;
At Corticelli's he the Ruffle won;
Then first his Paffion was in public fhown:
This Snuff-Box-on the Hinge fee Brilliants fhine:
Alas! far leffer loffes than I bear,
Have made a Soldier figh, a Lover swear.
But ah! what aggravates the killing fmart, The cruel thought, that stabs me to the heart; This curs'd OMBRELIA, this undoing Fair, By whofe vile arts this heavy grief I bear ; She, at whose name I fhed these spiteful tears, She owes to me the very charms fhe wears. An aukward Thing, when firft fhe came to Town; Her shape unfashion'd, and her Face unknown: 60 She was my friend; I taught her first to spread Upon her fallow cheeks enliv'ning red:
I introduc'd her to the Park and Plays;
And by my int'reft, Cozens made her Stays. Ungrateful wretch, with mimick airs grown pert, 65 She dares to steal my Fav'rite Lover's heart.
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 fhun.
How many Maids have SHARPER's vows deceiv'd? How many curs'd the moment they believ'd? Yet his known falfehoods could no warning prove: Ah! what is warning to a Maid in Love?
But of what marble must that breast be form'd, To gaze on Baffet, and remain unwarm'd ?
When Kings, Queens, Knaves, are fet in decent rank;
My Paffions rife, and will not bear the rein.