Imatges de pÓgina

- Four Mattadores, and lose Codill!

Depend upon't, I never will: “ But run to Tom, and bid him fix 66 The Ladies here To-night by Six.” Madam, the Goldsmith waits below; He says, his Business is to know If you'll redeem the Silver Cup He keeps in Pawn? Why, shew him up. Your Dressing-Plate, he'll be content To take, for Interest Cent. per Cent. And, Madam, there's my Lady Spade Hath sent this Letter by her Maid. " Well, I remember what she won :

66 And hath she sent so soon to dun?
Here, carry down those ten Pistoles

My Husband left to pay for Coals:
“ I thank my Stars they all are light ;
“ And I may have Revenge To-night.”
Now, loit'ring o'er her Tea and Cream,
She enters on her usual Theme ;
Her last Night's ill Success repeats ;
Calls Lady Spade a Hundred Cheats :
She slipt Spadillo in her Breast,
Then thought to turn it to a Jeft.
There's Mrs. Cut and she combine,
And to each other give the Sign.
Through every Game pursues her Tale,
Like Hunters o'er their Evening Ale.

Now to another Scene give Place, Enter the Folks with Silks and Lace: Vol. II.



Fresh Matter for a World of Chat ;
Right Indian this, right Macklin that;
Observe this Pattern ; there's a Stuff!
I can have Customers enough.
Dear Madam, you are grown fo hard,
This Lace is worth twelve Pounds a Yard ;
Madam, if there be Truth in Man,
I never sold fo cheap a Fan.

This Business of Importance o'er, And Madam almoft dress’d by Four ; The Footman, in his usual Phrase, Comes up with, “ Madam, Dinner stays ; She answers in her usual Style, “ The Cook must keep it back a-while ; “ I never can have time to dress, “ No Woman breathing takes up less ; “ I'm hurry'd so, it makes me sick, "I wish the Dinner at Old Nick." At Table now she acts her Part, Has all the Dinner-Cant by Heart: I thought we were to dine alone, " My Dear, for sure, if I had known, “ This Company would come to Day-“ But really, 'tis my Spouse's Way, " He's so unkind, he never sends « To tell when he invites his Friends ; “ I wish you may but have enough." And while, wich all this paultry Scuff, She fits tormenting every Guest, Nor gives her Tongue one Moment's Rest,

In Phrases batter'd, ftale, and trite,
Which modern Ladies call polite ;
You see the Booby Husband fit
In Admiration at her Wit!

But, let me now a while survey,
Our Madam, o'er her Ev’ning Tea;
Surrounded with her noisy Clans
Of Prudes, Coquets, and Harridans ;
When frighted at the clam'rous Crew,
Away the God of Silence flew,
And fair Discretion left the Place,
And Modesty with blushing Face :
Now enters over-weening Pride,
And Scandal, ever gaping wide.
Hypocrisy with Frown severe,
Scurrility with gibing Air ;
Rude Laughter seeming like to burst;
And Malice always judging worst ;
And Vanity with Pocket-Glass ;
And Impudence with Front of Brass ;
And studied Affectation came,
Each Limb and Feature out of Frame:
While Ignorance, with Brain of Lead,
Flew hov'ring o'er each Female Head.

Why should I ask of chee, my Muse,
An hundred Tongues, as Poets use,
When, to give ev'ry Dame her Due,
An hundred Thousand were too few;
Or, how should I, alas! relate
The Sum of all their senseless Prate;

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Their Innuendo's, Hints, and Slanders,
Their Meanings lewd, and double Entendres.
Now comes the gen’ral Scandal Charge ;
What some invent, the rest enlarge :
And, “ Madam, if it be a Lye,
" You have the Tale as I :
“ I must conceal my Author's Name,
" But now 'cis known to common Fame."

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SAY, foolish Females, bold and blind ;
Say, by what fatal Turn of Mind,
Are you on Vices most severe,
Wherein yourselves have greatest Share?
Thus ev'ry Fool herself deludes ;
The Prude condemns the absent Prudes

Mopsa, who stinks her Spouse to Death,
Accuses Chloe's tainted Breath;
Hercina, rank with Sweat, presumes
To censure Phillis for Perfumes ;
While crooked Cynthia (neering says ;
That Florimel wears Iron Stays,
Chloe, of ev'ry Coxcomb jealous,
Admires how Girls can talk with Fellows;
And full of Indignation frets
That Womerr should be such Coquets :
Iris, for Scandal most notorious,
Cries, “ Lord, the World is so cenforious !
And Rufa, with her Combs of Lead,
Whispers that Sappho's Hair is red :
Aura, whose Tongue you hear a Mile hence,
Talks half a Day in Praise of Silence ;


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And Silvia, full of inward Guilt,
Calls Amoret an arrant Jilt.

Now Voices over Voices rise,
While each to be the loudest vies ;
They contradict, affirm, dispute ;
No single Tongue one Moment mute ;
All mad to speak, and none to hearken,
They set the very Lap.Dog barking:
Their Chattering makes a louder Din
Than Filh-Wives o'er a Cup of Gin :
Not School-Boys, at a Barring-out,
Rais'd ever such incessant Rout:
The jumbling Particles of Matter
In Chaos made not such a Clatter ;
Far less the Rabble roar and rail,
When drunk with four Election Ale.

Nor do they trust their Tongue alone,
But speak a Language of their own;
Can read a Nod, a Shrug, a Look,
Far better than a printed Book :
Convey a Libel in a Frown,
And wink a Reputation down ;
Or, by the Toffing of the Fan,
Describe the Lady and the Man.

But see, the Female Club disbands,
Each, twenty Visits on her Hands.
Now, all alone, poor Madam sits,
In Vapours and Hysterick Fits :

66 And,

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