Infipid, fervile thing! whom I difdain!

"Her phlegm can best support the marriage chain.

"Damon is practis'd in the modifh life;

"Can hate, and yet be civil to his wife;

"He games, he drinks, he swears, he fights, he roves ; "Yet CLOE can believe he fondly loves.

"Mistress and wife by turns fupply his need; "A mifs for pleasure, and a wife for breed. "Powder'd with diamonds, free from fpleen or care,' "She can a fullen husband's humour bear; "Her credulous friendship, and her stupid cafe, "Have often been my jeft in happier days : "Now CLOE boafts and triumphs in my pains; "To her he's faithful; 'tis to me he feigns. "Am I that stupid thing to bear neglect, "And force a fmile, not daring to suspect? "No, perjur'd man! a wife may be content, **But you fhall find a mistress can refent."

Thus love-fick Lydia rav'd; her maid appears, And in her faithful hand the band-box bears; (The Cestos that reform'd inconftant Jove Not better fill'd with what allur❜d to love) "How well this ribband's glofs becomes your face!" She cries in rapture; "then, fo sweet a lace! "How charmingly you look! so bright! so fair! ""Tis to your eyes the head-dress owes its air!" Strait LYDIA fmil'd; the comb adjufts her locks; And at the play-houfe, HARRY keeps her box.

SATURDAY,

こ

The SMALL-POX.

FLAVIA.

HE wretched FLAVIA on her couch reclin'd,

Thus treated the ung on her a wounded mind;

a

A glass revers❜d in her right hand she bore,
For now fhe fhun'd the face fhe fought before.
• How am I chang'd! alas! how am I grown
A frightful spectre, to myself unknown!

'Where's my complexion ? where my radiant bloom,
That promis'd happiness for years to come?
Then with what pleasure I this face furvey'd!
To look once more, my vifits oft delay'd!

• Charm'd with the view, a fresher red would rise,
And a new life fhot sparkling from my eyes!
• Ah! faithless glass, my wonted bloom restore;
Alas! I rave, that bloom is now no more.
The greatest good the gods on men bestow,
"Ev'n youth itself to me is useless now,

There was a time (oh! that I cou'd forget!) 'When opera-tickets pour'd before my feet; And at the ring, where brightest beauties shine, The earliest cherries of the spring were mine. Witness, O Lilly; and thou, Motteux, tell, • How much japan these eyes have made ye fell,

• With what contempt ye saw me oft despise
• The humble offer of the raffled prize;
• For at the raffle ftill each prize I bore,
With scorn rejected, or with triumph wore.
• Now beauty's fled, and presents are no more!
For me the Patriot has the house forfook,
And left debates to catch a paffing look:
For me the Soldier has foft verses writ :
For me the Beau has aim'd to be a wit.
For me the Wit to nonsense was betray'd;
The Gamefter has for me his dun delay'd,
• And overseen the card he would have play'd.
The bold and haughty by fuccess made vain,
Aw'd by my eyes, have trembled to complain :
The bafhful 'Squire touch'd by a wish unknown,
• Has dar'd to speak with spirit not his own:
Fir'd by one wish, all did alike adore ;
Now beauty's fled, and lovers are no more!

As round the room I turn my weeping eyes,
New unaffected scenes of sorrow rise.
Far from my fight that killing picture bear,
The face disfigure, and the canvas tear :

That picture, which with pride I us'd to show, • The loft resemblance but upbraids me now. • And thou, my toilette, where I oft have fate, While hours unheeded pass'd in deep debate, • How curls fhould fall, or where a patch to place; If blue or fcarlet beft became my face;

}

}

Now

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< Now on fome happier nymph your aid bestow;
On fairer heads, ye ufelefs jewels, glow;
No borrow'd luftre can my charms reftore;
• Beauty is fled, and dress is now no more.
• Ye meaner beauties, I permit ye shine ;
Go, triumph in the hearts that once were mine ;
• But, 'midft your triumphs with confusion know,
• 'Tis to my ruin all your arms ye owe.

• Wou'd pitying heav'n restore my wonted mien,
⚫ Ye ftill might move unthought of and unfeen :
But oh, how vain, how wretched is the boast
• Of beauty faded, and of empire lost !

• What now is left but weeping, to deplore

My beauty fled, and empire now no more?

• Ye cruel chymifts, what with-held your aid!
• Could no pomatums fave a trembling maid?
• How false and trifling is that art ye boast!
No art can give me back my beauty loft.
In tears, furrounded by my friends I lay,
'Mask'd o'er, and trembled at the fight of day;
MIRMILLIO came my fortune to deplore,

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(A golden-headed cane well carv'd he bore)
Cordials, he cry'd, my fpirits must restore!
Beauty is fled, and fpirit is no more!

GALEN, the grave; officious SQUIRT was there,

• With fruitless grief and unavailing care:
MACHAON too, the great MACHAON, known
By his red cloak and his fuperior frown;

And why, he cry'd, this grief and this despair, • You shall again be well, again be fair;

Believe my oath; (with that an oath he swore)'
False was his oath; my beauty is no more!

• Cease, hapless maid, no more thy tale pursue, < Forfake mankind, and bid the world adieu! Monarchs and beauties rule with equal fway; • All strive to serve, and glory to obey: •Alike unpitied when depos'd they grow• Men mock the idol of their former vow.

Adieu! ye parks !-in fome obfcure recefs, • Where gentle streams will weep at my distress, • Where no false friend will in my grief take part, And mourn my ruin with a joyful heart;

• There let me live in fome deserted place,

< There hide in shades this loft inglorious face,

Plays, operas, circles, I no more must view!

< My toilette, patches, all the world adieu !

The