But poets in all ages had the care To keep this cap for such as will, to wear.

Our author has it now (for every wit Of course resign'd it to the next that writ) And thus upon the stage 'tis fairly thrown;[61]

Let him that takes it wear it as his own.

EPILOGUE TO MR ROWE'S 'JANE SHORE.'

DESIGNED FOR MRS OLDFIELD.

Prodigious this! the frail one of our play From her own sex should mercy find to-day!

You might have held the pretty head aside, Peep'd in your fans, been serious thus, and cried-- 'The play may pass--but that strange creature, Shore, I can't--indeed now--I so hate a whore--'

Just as a blockhead rubs his thoughtless skull, And thanks his stars he was not born a fool; So from a sister sinner you shall hear, 'How strangely you expose yourself, my dear!' 10 But let me die, all raillery apart, Our sex are still forgiving at their heart; And, did not wicked custom so contrive, We'd be the best good-natured things alive.

There are, 'tis true, who tell another tale, That virtuous ladies envy while they rail; Such rage without, betrays the fire within; In some close corner of the soul they sin; Still hoarding up, most scandalously nice, Amidst their virtues a reserve of vice. 20 The godly dame, who fleshly failings damns, Scolds with her maid, or with her chaplain crams.

Would you enjoy soft nights and solid dinners?

Faith, gallants, board with saints, and bed with sinners,

Well, if our author in the wife offends, He has a husband that will make amends; He draws him gentle, tender, and forgiving; And sure such kind good creatures may be living.

In days of old, they pardon'd breach of vows, Stern Cato's self was no relentless spouse: 30 Plu--Plutarch, what's his name that writes his life?

Tells us, that Cato dearly loved his wife: Yet if a friend, a night or so, should need her, He'd recommend her as a special breeder.

To lend a wife, few here would scruple make; But, pray, which of you all would take her back?

Though with the Stoic chief our stage may ring, The Stoic husband was the glorious thing.

The man had courage, was a sage, 'tis true, And loved his country--but what's that to you? 40 Those strange examples ne'er were made to fit ye, But the kind cuckold might instruct the city: There, many an honest man may copy Cato, Who ne'er saw naked sword, or look'd in Plato.

If, after all, you think it a disgrace, That Edward's miss thus perks it in your face; To see a piece of failing flesh and blood, In all the rest so impudently good; Faith, let the modest matrons of the town Come here in crowds, and stare the strumpet down. 50

MISCELLANIES

THE BASSET-TABLE.[62]

AN ECLOGUE.

CARDELIA.

The basset-table spread, the tallier come; Why stays Smilinda in the dressing-room?

Rise, pensive nymph, the tallier waits for you!

SMILINDA.

Ah, madam, since my Sharper is untrue, I joyless make my once adored Alpeu.

I saw him stand behind Ombrelia's chair, And whisper with that soft, deluding air, And those feign'd sighs which cheat the listening fair.

CARDELIA.

Is this the cause of your romantic strains?

A mightier grief my heavy heart sustains. 10 As you by love, so I by fortune cross'd, One, one bad deal, three Septlevas have lost.

SMILINDA.

Is that the grief, which you compare with mine?

With ease, the smiles of Fortune I resign: Would all my gold in one bad deal were gone!

Were lovely Sharper mine, and mine alone.

CARDELIA.

A lover lost, is but a common care; And prudent nymphs against that change prepare: The Knave of Clubs thrice lost! Oh! who could guess This fatal stroke, this unforeseen distress? 20

SMILINDA.

See Betty Lovet! very _apropos_ She all the cares of love and play does know: Dear Betty shall th' important point decide; Betty, who oft the pain of each has tried; Impartial, she shall say who suffers most, By cards' ill usage, or by lovers lost.

LOVET.

Tell, tell your griefs; attentive will I stay, Though time is precious, and I want some tea.

CARDELIA.

Behold this equipage, by Mathers wrought, With fifty guineas (a great pen'orth) bought. 30 See, on the tooth-pick, Mars and Cupid strive; And both the struggling figures seem alive.

Upon the bottom shines the queen's bright face; A myrtle foliage round the thimble-case.

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

SMILINDA.

This snuff-box,--once the pledge of Sharper's love, When rival beauties for the present strove; At Corticelli's he the raffle won; Then first his passion was in public shown: 40 Hazardia blush'd, and turn'd her head aside, A rival's envy (all in vain) to hide.

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 oh! 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. 50 The Knave won Sonica, which I had chose; And the next pull, my Septleva I lose.

SMILINDA.

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 favourite lover's heart.

CARDELIA.

Wretch that I was, how often have I swore, When Winnall tallied, I would punt no more?

I know the bite, yet to my ruin run; And see the folly, which I cannot shun. 70

SMILINDA.