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CARD. But of what marble must that breast
be form’d, To gaze on Basset, and remain unwarm’d? When kings, queens, knaves, are set in decent rank, Expos'd 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: Fir'd 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
compose, Can hearken coldly to my Sharper's vows? Then when he trembles ! when his blushes rise ! When awful love seems melting in his eyes ! With eager
beats his Mechlin cravat moves :
Card. At the Groom-porter's batter'd bullies play, Some dukes at Mary-bone bowl time away; But who the bowl or rattling dice compares To Basset's heavenly joys and pleasing cares?
Smil. Soft Simplicetta dotes upon a beau; Prudina likes a man, and laughs at show : Their several graces in my Sharper meet, Strong as the footman, as the master sweet. Lov. Cease your contention, which has been
VERBATIM FROM BOILEAU.
Un jour dit un auteur, &c.
ONCE (says an author, where I need not say)
ANSWER TO THE FOLLOWING QUESTION OF
What is prudery?
'Tis a beldam,
LINES OCCASIONED BY SOME VERSES OF HIS
GRACE THE DUKE OF BUCKINGHAM.
Muse, 'tis enough, at length thy labour ends,
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.
· Miss Lepell, maid of honour to Queen Caroline, and afterwards Lady Hervey.
PROLOGUE TO MR. ADDISON'S CATO.
To wake the soul by tender strokes of art,
deed ? Who hears him groan, and does not wish to bleed ?
E'en when proud Cæsar midst triumphal cars,
wars, Ignobly vain, and impotently great, Show'd Rome her Cato's figure drawn in state; As her dead father's reverend image past, The pomp was darken'd, and the day o'ercast ; The triumph ceas'd, tears gush'd from every eye; The world's great victor pass'd unheeded by; Her last good man dejected Rome ador'd, And honour'd Cæsar's less than Cato's sword.
Britons, attend : be worth like this approv'd, And show you have the virtue to be mov’d. With honest scorn the first fam'd Cato view'd Rome learning arts from Greece, whom she subYour scene precariously subsists too long (dued : On French translation and Italian song. Dare to have sense yourselves.; assert the stage, Be justly warm'd with your own native rage : Such plays alone should win a British ear, As Cato's self had not disdain'd to hear.
EPILOGUE TO MR. ROWE'S JANE SHORE.
DESIGNED FOR MRS. OLDFIELD.
PRODIGIOUS this! the frail one of our play
mercy find to-day! You mignt have held the pretty head aside, Peep'd in your fans, been serious, thus, and cried,