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But see, where Norab with the Sowins comes---
Τ Η Ε
Written in the YEAR 1728.
T was a most unfriendly Part
In you, who ought to know my Heart,
Their Virtues never ceas’d to fing,
[Here several Verses àre vinitted.] The Hound be hunted by the Hare, Than I turn Rebel to the Fair.
'Twas you engag'd me first to write,
COMPELL’d by you to tag in Rhimes, The common Slanders of the Times,
Of modern Times; the Guilt is yours,
UNWILLING Muse begin thy Lay, The Annals of a Female Day.
By Nature turn'd to play the Rake-well, (As we shall shew you in the Sequel) The modern Dame is wak'd by Noon, Some Authors say, not quite so soon; Becaufe, though sore against her Will, She sat all Night up at Quadrill. She stretches, gapes, unglues her Eyes, And asks if it be time to rise; Of Head-ach, and the Spleen complains; And then to cool her heated Brains, (Her Night-gown and her Slippers brought her,) Takes a large Dram of Citron-Water. Then to her Glass; and Betty', pray “ Don't I look frightfully To-day? “ But, was it not confounded hard?
Well, if I ever touch a Card: Four Mattadores, and lose Codill! Depend upon't, I never will.
But « But run to Tom, and bid him fix is
The Ladies here To-night by Six.” Madami, 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. 66 Well, I remember what she won; " And hath she fent fo foon 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 flipt Spadillo in her Breast, Then thought to turn it to a Jeft. There's Mrs. Cut and the combine, And to each other give the Sign.
Through every Game pursues her Tale,
Now to another Scene give Place,
This Bufiness of Importance o'er, And Madam almost 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, 6 No Woman breathing takes up less; « I'm hurry'd so, it makes me fick, 6 I wish the Dinner at Old Nick."