If affectation shows a beauteous mind,

Lives there a man to Laura's merits blind.

DORIS. Sylvia, be sure, defies the Town's reproach, Whose dishabille is foil'd in hackney-coach; What tho' the sash was clos'd? must we conclude That she was yielding when her fop was tude? MELAN. Laura learn'd caution at too dear á cost; What fair could e'er retrieve her honour lost? Secret she loves; and who the nymph can blame, Who durst not own a footman's vulgar flame? DORIS. Tho' Laura's homely taste descends so low, Her footman well may vie with Sylvia's beau.

50

MELAN. Yet why should Laura think it a disgrace, When proud Miranda's groom wears Flanders' lace!' DORIS. What tho' for music Cynthio boasts an ear? Robin perhaps can hum an opera air,

Cynthio can bow, takes snuff, and dances well:
Robin talks common sense, cản write and spell:
Sylvia's vain fancy dress and show admires,
But 'tis the man alone who Laura fires.

60

MELAN. Plato's wise morals Laura's soul improve, And this, no doubt, must be platonic love! Her soul to gen'rous acts was still inclin'd; What shows more virtue than an humble mind? DORIS. What tho' young Sylvia love the Park's cool And wander in the dusk the secret glade ? [shade, Mask'd and alone (by chance) she met her spark; That innocence is weak which shuns the dark.

MELAN, But Laura, for her flame has no pretence; Her footman is a footman too in sense.

All prudes I hate; and those are rightly curst
With scandal's double load, who censure first.
DORIS. And what if Cynthio Sylvia's garter ty'd! ·
Who such a foot and such a leg would hide,
When crook-knee'd Phillis can expose to view
Her gold-clock'd stocking, and her tawdry shoe?
MELAN. If pure devotion centre in the face,
If cens'ring others shew intrinsic grace,
If guilt to public freedoms be confin'd,
Prudes (all must own) are of the holy kind!

80

DORIS. Sylvia disdains reserve, and flies constraint; She neither is, nor would be thought a saint. MELAN. Love is a trivial passion, Laura cries! May I be blest with Friendship's stricter ties. To such a breast all secrets we commend: Sure the whole drawing-room is Laura's friend.

DORIS. At marriage Sylvia rails; who men would" Yet husbands' jealousies are sometimes just. [trust ? Her favours Sylvia shares among mankind; Such gen'rous love should never be confin'd.

As thus alternate chat employ'd their tongue,
With thund'ring raps the brazen knocker rung.
Laura with Sylvia came; the nymphs arise
This unexpected visit, Doris cries,

Is doubly kind! Melanthe Laura led;
Since I was last so blest, my dear she said,

" 191

ay.]

Hij

Sure 'tis an age! They sate; the hour was set;
And all again that night at Ombre met.

THE FUNERAL.

A TOWN ECLOGUE.

SABINA, LUCY.

TWICE bad the moon perform'd her monthly race,

Since first the veil o'ercast Sabina's face:
Then died the tender partner of her bed;
And lives Sabina when Fidelio's dead?
Fidelio's dead, and yet Sabina lives:
But see, the tribu'e of her tears she gives.
Their absent lord her rooms in sable mourn,
And all the day the glimm'ring tapers burn;
Stretch'd on the couch of state she pensive lies,
While oft' the snowy cambric wipes her eyes.
Now enter'd Lucy: trusty Lucy knew
To roll a sleeve, or bear a billet-doux;
Her ready tongue, in secret service try'd,
With equal fluency spoke truth or ly'd:
She well could flush or humble a gallant,
And serve at once as maid and confidant.
A letter from her faithful stays she took;
Sabina snatch'd it with an angry look,

100

10

And thus in hasty words her grief confest,

While Lucy strove to sooth her troubl'd breast.

20

30

SAB. What, still Myrtillo's hand! his flame I scorn; Give back his passion with the seal untorn, To break our soft repose has mán a right? And are we doom'd to read whate'er they write? Not all the sex my firm resolves shall move; My life's a life of sorrow not of love. May Lydia's wrinkles all my forehead trace, And Celia's paleness sicken o'er my face; May fops of mine, as Flavia's favours, boast, And coquettes triumph in my honour lost; May cards employ my nights, and never more May these curst eyes behold a Metadore! Break China, perish Shock, die perroquet ! When I Fidelio's dearer love forget. Fidelio's judgment scorn'd the foppish train, His air was easy, and his dress was plain; His words sincere, respect his presence drew, And on his lips sweet conversation grew. Where's Wit, where 's Beauty, where is Virtue fled ? Alas! they're now no more; Fidelio's dead!

LUCY. Yet when he liv'd he wanted ev'ry grace;

That easy air was then an awkward pace:
Have not your sighs in whispers often said,
His dress was slovenly, his speech ill-bred ?
Have not I heard you, with a secret tear,
Call that sweet converse sullen and severe ?
Think not I'm come to take Myrtillo's part,
Let Chloe, Daphne, Doris, share his heart:

40

Let Chloe's love in ev'ry year express,
His graceful person and genteel address.

All well may judge what shaft has Daphne hit,
Who can be silent to admire his wit.
His equipage and liv'ries Doris move,
But Chloe, Daphne, Doris fondly love.
Sooner shall cits in fashions guide the court,
And beaus upon the busy Change resort;
Sooner the nation shall from snuff be freed,
And fops' apartments smoke with India' weed;
Sooner I'd wish and sigh thro' nunn'ry grates,
Than recommend the flame Sabina hates.

SAB. Because some widows are in haste subdu❜d,

Shall ev'ry fop upon our tears intrude?
Can I forget my lov'd Fidelio's tongue,
Soft as the warbling of Italian song?

Did not his rosy lips breathe forth perfume,
Fragrant as steams from tea's imperial bloom?

50

60

LUCY. Yet once you thought that tongue a greater

Than squalls of children for an absent nurse.

Have you not fancy'd in his frequent kiss
Th' ungrateful leavings of a filthy miss?

[curse

SAB. Love! I thy pow'r defy; no second flame
Shall ever raze my dear Fidelio's name.
Fannia without a tear might lose her lord
Who ne'er enjoy'd his presence but at board,
And why should sorrow sit on Lesbia's face?
Are there such comforts in a sot's embrace?

70