« EelmineJätka »
While the spread fan o'erflades your clofing eyes;
So when your Slave, at fome dear idle time, (Not plagu'd with head-achs, or the want of rhyme)
Stands in the streets, abftracted from the crew, And while he seems to ftudy, thinks of you; Juft when his fancy points your fprightly eyes, 45 Or fees the blufh of foft Parthenia rife,
Gay pats my shoulder, and you vanish quite, Streets, Chairs, and Coxcombs rufh upon my fight; Vex'd to be still in town, I knit my brow,
Look four, and hum a Tune, as you may now. 50
HE Baffet-Table spread, the Tallier come;
Rife, pensive Nymph, the Tallier waits for
Ah, Madam, fince my SHARPER is untrue, I joyless make my once ador'd Alpeu.
I saw him ftand behind OMBRELIA's Chair,
The Baffet-Table.] Only this of all the Town Eclogues was Mr. Pope's; and is here printed from a copy corrected by his own hand --The humour of it lies in this happy circumftance, that the one is in love with the Game, and the Other with the Sharper.
Is this the cause of
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 guess
This fatal stroke, this unforeseen Distress? 20
See BETTY LOVET! very à propos, She all the cares of Love and Play does know : Dear BETTY shall th' important point decide; BETTY, who oft the pain of each has try'd; Impartial, fhe fhall fay who fuffers most,
By Cards' Ill Ufage, or by Lovers loft.
Tell, tell your griefs; attentive will Í stay, Tho' Time is precious, and I want fome Tea.
Behold this Equipage, by Mathers wrought, With FiftyGuineas (a great Pen'worth) bought. 30 See on the Tooth-pick, Mars and Cupid ftrive; And both the struggling figures feem alive. Upon the bottom shines the Queen's bright Face; A Myrtle Foliage round the Thimble-Case. Jove, Jove himself, does on the Scizars fhine; 35 The Metal, and the Workmanship, divine!
This Snuff-Box,-once the pledge of SHARP-
When rival beauties for the Prefent ftrove;
At Corticelli's he the Raffle won;
Then firft his Paffion was in public shown: 40 HAZARDIA blush'd, and turn'd her Head afide, A Rival's envy (all in vain) to hide.
This Snuff-Box,-on the Hinge fee Brilliants shine: This Snuff-Box will I ftake; the Prize is mine.
Alas! far leffer loffes than I bear,
Have made a Soldier figh, a Lover swear.
And Oh! what makes the disappointment hard, 'Twas my own Lord that drew the fatal Card.
In complaifance, I took the Queen he
gave; Tho' my own fecret wish was for the Knave. 50 The Knave won Sonica, which I had chofe;
And the next Pull, my Septleva I lofe.
But ah! what aggravates the killing smart,
She, at whose name I shed these spiteful tears,