Jove, Jove himself, does on the scissors shine; 35 The metal and the workmanship divine!

SMILINDA.

This snuff-box, once the pledge of Sharper's
Iove,

When rival beauties for the present strove :
At Corticelli's he the raffle won ;

Then first his passion was in public shown:
Hazardia blush'd, and turn'd her head aside,
A rival's envy, all in vain, to hide.

40

This snuff-box-on the hinge see brilliants shine :— This snuff-box will I stake; the prize is mine.

CARDELIA.

Alas! far lesser losses than I bear, Have made a soldier sigh, a lover swear: And, O! what makes the disappointment hard, 'Twas my own lord that drew the fatal card. In complaisance, I took the queen he gave, Though my own secret wish was for the knave. The knave won sonica, which I had chose; And the next pull, my septleva I lose.

SMILINDA.

45

51

55

But, ah! what aggravates the killing smart, The cruel thought that stabs me to the heart; This cursed Ombrelia, this undoing fair; By whose vile arts this heavy grief I bear; She, at whose name I shed these spiteful tears; She owes to me the very charms she wears. An awkward thing, when first she came to town; Her shape unfashion'd, and her face unknown: 60

She was my friend; I taught her first to spread
Upon her sallow cheeks enlivening red;
I introduced her to the Park and plays;
And, by my interest, Cozens made her stays.
Ungrateful wretch, with mimic airs grown pert,
She dares to steal my favorite lover's heart!

CARDELIA.

Wretch that I was, how often have I swore, When Winnall tallied, I would punt no more! I knew the bite, yet to my ruin run;

And see the folly, which I cannot shun.

SMILINDA.

66

70

How many maids have Sharper's vows deceived!

How many cursed the moment they believed! Yet his known falsehoods could no warning prove!

Ah, what is warning to a maid in love!

CARDELIA.

76

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;

Exposed 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.
Fired by the sight, all reason I disdain;
My passions rise, and will not bear the rein.

80

72

Look upon basset, you who reason boast;

And see if reason must not there be lost.

85

SMILINDA.

What more than marble must that heart compose,

90

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 :
He loves!' I whisper to myself; 'he loves!'
Such unfeign'd passion in his looks appears,
I lose all memory of my former fears ;
My panting heart confesses all his charms;
I yield at once, and sink into his arms.
Think of that moment, you who prudence
boast;

For such a moment prudence well were lost.

CARDELIA.

At the Groom-Porter's batter'd bullies play;
Some dukes at Marybone bowl time away :
But who the bowl or rattling dice compares
To basset's heavenly joys and pleasing cares?

SMILINDA.

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.

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100

105

LOVET.

Cease 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 shall grace Smilinda's side;
The snuff-box to Cardelia I decree :
Now leave complaining, and begin your tea.*

110

*The style of this poem was popular. Gay wrote a Quaker's Eclogue,' and Swift a' Footman's Eclogue.' It was probably on this occasion, and to the ideas suggested by the latter jeu d'esprit, that the Beggars' Opera' owed its birth. 'I think,' said Swift one day to Pope,' the pastoral ridicule is not yet exhausted: what think you of a Newgate pastoral among the thieves there?' Gay was furnished with the design; (how far advanced by Swift's vigorous conception, and Pope's subtilty of satire, cannot now be told) and found in it an instant and extraordinary source of emolument and fame. A pretty poem of Lady W. Montague is preserved (Algarotti, v. 7.) :—

Thou silver deity of secret night,

Direct my footsteps through the woodland shade;
Thou conscious witness of unknown delight,

The lover's guardian, and the Muse's aid;

By thy pale beams I solitary rove;

To thee my tender grief confide:
Serenely sweet, you gild the silent grove,
My friend, my goddess, and my guide.
Ev'n thee, fair queen, from thy amazing height,
The charms of young Endymion drew,
Veil'd in the mantle of concealing night,

With all thy greatness, all thy coldness too.

Her ladyship is recorded to have had a female jealousy of correction. When she occasionally showed a copy of her verses to Pope, she would say,- Now, Pope, no touching; for then, whatever is good for any thing will pass for yours; and the rest for mine.'

VERSES TO MR. C.

St. James's Place, London, Oct. 22.

FEW words are best: I wish

you

well:

Bethel, I'm told, will soon be here;
Some morning walks along the Mall,
And evening friends, will end the year.

If, in this interval, between

The falling leaf and coming frost,
You please to see on Twit'nam-green
Your friend, your poet, and your host;

;

For three whole days you here may rest
From office business, news, and strife
And, what most folks would think a jest,
Want nothing else, except your wife.

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