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Infipid, servile thing! whom I disdain ! 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 miss for pleasure, and a wife for breed. e Powder'd with diamonds, free from fpleen or care, - She can a sullen husband's humour bear ; “ Her credulous friendship, and her stupid ease, “ Have often been my jeft in happier days : • Now Cloe boasts 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 smile, not daring to suspect ? No, perjur'd man! a wife may

be content, * But you shall 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, so sweet a lace! “ How charmingly you look! fo bright! so fair! 'Tis to your eyes the head-dress owes its air!" Strait Lydia smil'd; the comb adjusts her locks ; And at the play-house, HARRY keeps her box, 3

SATUR

SATURDAY,

The SMALL-Pox.

T

FLAVIA.
HE wretched FLAVIA on her couch reclin'd,

Thus breath'd the anguish of a wounded mind;
A glass revers'd in her right hand she bore,
For now she fhund the face she 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 survey'd ! * To look once more, my visits oft delay'd !

Charm'd with the view, a fresher red would rise, * And a new life mot 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 sell,

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• 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 forsook,
• And left debates to catch a pafling look:
« For me the Soldier has soft verses writ :
« For me the Beau has aim'd to be a wit.
• For me the Wit to nonsense was betray'd ;
• The Gamester 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 bashful '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 tarn my weeping eyes, • New unaffected scenes of forrow 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 should fall, or where a patch to place; • If blue or fcarlet best became my face ;

« Now

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"Now on some happier nymph your aid bestow ;
« On fairer heads, ye useless jewels, glow;
• No borrow'd lustre can my charms restore ;
Beauty is filed, and dress is now no more.

• Ye meaner beauties, I permit ye shine ;
• Go, triumph in the hearts that once were mine ;
. But, 'midst 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 unseen : • But oh, how vain, how. wretched is the boalt

Of beauty faded, and of empire loft ! • What now is left but weeping, to deplore • My beauty fled, and empire now no more?

• Ye cruel chymists, what with-held your aid ! • Could no pomatums save a trembling maid ? • How false and trilling is that art ye boast ! • No art can give me back my beauty loit.

surrounded by my friends I lay, "Mask'd o'er, and trembled at the fight of day; • MIRMILLIO came my fortune to deplore, (A golden-headed cane well carv'd he bore)

Cordials, he cry'd, my spirits must restore ! • Beauty is filed, and spirit 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 superior frown;

. And

. In tears,

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• 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, - Forsake 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 obscure recess, • Where gentle streams will weep at my distress, • Where nó false friend will in my grief take part, • And mourn my ruin with a joyful heart ; - There let me live in some 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 !

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