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On him the ladies cast the yielding glance,
Sigh in his songs, and languish in his dance;
While wretched is the wit, contemn'd, forlorn,
Whose gummy hat no scarlet plumes adorn;
No broider'd flow'rs his worsted ankle grace,
Nor cane emboss'd with gold directs his pace;
No lady's favour on his sword is hung:
What tho' Apollo dictate from his tongue ?
His wit is spiritless and void of grace,
Who wants th' assurance of brocade and lace.
While the gay fop gentcely talks of weather,
The fair in raptures dote upon his feather;
Like a court-lady tho' he write and spell,
His minuet step was fashion'd by Marcell : *
He dresses, fences. What avails to know?
For women chuse their men, like silks, for show.
Is this the thing, you cry, that Paris boasts ?
Is this the thing renown'd among our toasts ?
For such a flutt'ring sight we need not roam;
Our own assemblies shine with these at home.

Let us into the field of beauty start;
Beauty's a theme that ever warm’d 'my heart.
Think not, ye Fair! that I the sex accuse :
How shall I spare you, prompted by the Muse ?
(The Muses all are prudes) she rails, she frets,
Amidst the sprightly nation of coquettes ;
Yet let nct us their loose coquettry blame;
Women of ev'ry nation are the same.

-* A famous dancing-master.

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You ask me if Parisian dames, like ours, With rattling dice profane the Sunday's hours ? If they the gamester's pale-ey'd vigils keep, And stake their honour while their husbands sleep? Yes, Sir; like English toasts, the dames of France Will risk their income on a single chance. Nannette last night a tricking Pharaon play'd, The cards the taillier's sliding hand obey'd; So To-day her neck no brilliant circle wears, Nor the ray-darting pendant loads her ears. Why does old Chloris an assembly hold,? Chloris each night divides the sharper's gold. Corrina's cheek with frequent losses burns, And no bold trente la va her fortune turns. Ah! too raslı virgin! where's thy virtue flown? She pawns her person for the sharper's loan. Yet who with justice can the fair upbraid, Whose debts of honour are so duly paid ?

90 But let me ryt forget the toilet's cares, Where art each morn the languid cheek repairs: This red's too pale, nor gives a distant grace; Madaine to-day puts on her opera face: From this we scarce extract the milk-maid's bloom, Bring the deep dye that warms across the room. Ncr flames her cheek, so strong her charms prevail, That on her gown the silken rose looks pale! Not but that France some native beauty boasts, Clermont and Charolois might grace our toasts.

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When the sweet-breathing spring unfólds the buds, Love flies the dusty town for shady woods. Then Tottenham fields with roving beauty swarm, And Hampstead balls the City virgins' warm; Then Chelsea's meads o’erhear perfidious vows, And the prest grass defrauds“the grazing cows. 'Tis here the sanje; but in a higher sphere; For ev'n court ladiessin'in open air. What cit with a gallant would trust his spouse Beneath the tempting shade of Greenwich boughs ? What Peer of France would let his Duchess rove, Where Boulonge's closest woods invite to love? But here no wife can blast her husband's fame; Cuckold is grown an honourable name. Stretch'd on the grass the shepherd sighs his pain, And on the grass what shepherd sighs in vain ? On Chloe's lap here Damon laid along, Melts with the languish of her am'rous song: There Iris flies Palæmon thro' the glade, Nor trips by chance---till in the thickest shade: Here Celimene defends her lips and breast, For kisses are by struggling closer prest: Alexis there with eager flame grows bold, Nor can the nymph his wanton fingers hoid. Be wise, Alexis! what, so near the road! Hark, a coach rolls, and husbands are abroad! Such were our pleasures in the days of yore, When ain'rous Charles Britannia's sceptre bore;

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140

The nightly scene of joy the Park was made,
And Love in couples peopeld every shade; 130
But since at court the rural taste is lost,
What mighty sums have velvet couches cost!

Sonetimes the Tuillerie's gawdy walk I love, Where I thro' crowds of rustling manteaus rove. As here from side to side my eyes I cast, And gaz'd on all ihe glitt'ring train that past, Sulden a fop steps forih before the rest, I knew the bold embroid'ry of his vest. He thus acosts me with familiar air, farbleu! on a fait cet babil en Angleterre! Quelle marche! ce galon est grossierement range; Voila quelque chose de fort beau et degage! This said, on his red heel he turns, and then Hums a soft minuet, and proceeds agen. Well, now you've Paris seen, you'll frankly own " Your boasted London seems a country town: “ Has Christianity yet reach'd your nation ? Are churches built ? are masquerades in fashion ? Do daily soups your dinners introduce ? “ Are music, snuff, and coaches, yet in use ?150 Pardon me, Sir; we know the Paris mode, And gather politesse from courts abroad. Like you, our courtiers keep a num'rous train To load their coach, and tradesmen dun in vain. Nor has religion left us in the lurch, And, as in France, our vulgar crowd the church:

Our ladies, too, support the masquerade;
The sex, by nature, love th' intriguing trade.
Straight the vain fop in ign’rant rapture cries,
“ Paris the barb'rous world will civilize !" 160
Pray, Sir, point out among the passing band
The present beauties who the Town command.
" See yonder dame; strict virtue chills her breast,
«Mark in her eye demure the prude profest;
" That frozen bosom native fire must want
" Which boasts of constancy to one gallant!
" This next the spoils of fifty lovers wears,
" Rich Dandin's brilliant favours grace her ears;
" The necklace Florio's gen'rous flame bestow'd,
" Clitander's sparkling gems her finger load; 170
But now her charms grown cheap by constant use,
“ She sins for scarfs, clock'd stockings, knots, and
“ This next, with sobergait and serious iter, [shoes.
• Wearies her knees with morn and ev’ning pray's;
" She scorns th’ ignoble love of feeble pages,
" But with three abbots in one night engages.
- This with the cardinal her nights employ's,
" Where holy sinews consecrate her joys:
" Why have I promis'd things beyond my powin?
“ Five assignations wait me at this lour:
The sprightly countess finst my visit claire,
" To-morrow shall indulge inferior dunes
“ Pardon me, Sir, that thus I take my leare,
6 Gay Florimella slily twitch'd'my sleeve,”

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