SILLIANDER and PATCH.
HOU, who fo many favours haft receiv'd,
Wond'rous to tell, and hard to be believ'd,
Oh! H-D, to my lays attention lend,
Hear how too lovers boastingly contend :
Like thee fuccessful, fuch their bloomy youth,
Renown'd alike for gallantry and truth,
St. JAMES's bell had toll'd some wretches in,
{As tatter'd riding-hoods alone could fin)
The happier finners now their charms put out,
And to their manteaus their complexions fuit;
The opera queens had finished half their faces,
And city-dames already taken places;
Fops of all kinds, to fee the Lion, run;
The beauties ftay till the first act's begun,
And beaux ftep home to put fresh linen on.
No well-drefs'd youth in coffee-house remain❜d,
But penfive PATCH, who on the window lean'd;
And SILLIANDER, that alert and gay,
First pick'd his teeth, and then began to say.
Why all these fighs; ah ! why fo penfive grown ?
Some cause there is why thus you fit alone.
Does hapless paffion all this forrow move?
Or doft thou envy where the ladies love?
PATCH.
If, whom they love, my envy must pursue, 'Tis true, at least, I never envy you.
No, I'm unhappy-you are in the right→→→→→
"Tis you they favour, and 'tis me they flight,
Yet I could tell, but that I hate to boast,
A club of ladies where 'tis me they toast.
PATCH.
Toafting does feldom any favour prove;
Like us, they never toaft the thing they love.
A certain duke one night my health begun ;
With chearful pledges round the room it run,
Till the young SYLVIA, prefs'd to drink it too,
Started and vow'd fhe knew not what to do:
What, drink a fellow's health! fhe dy'd with shame :
Yet blufh'd whenever the pronounc'd my name.
SILLIANDER.
Ill fates purfue me, may I never find
The dice propitious, or the ladies kind,
If fair Mifs FLIPPY's fan I did not tear,
And one from me the condefcends to wear.
Women are always ready to receive;
'Tis then a favour when the sex will give.
A lady (but he is too great to name)
Beauteous in perfon, spotless in her fame,
With gentle ftrugglings let me force this ring;
Another day may give another thing.
I cou'd fay fomething-fee this billet-douxAnd as for prefents-look upon my fhoeThese buckles were not forc'd, nor half a theft, But a young countess fondly made the gift.
My countess is more nice, more artful too,
Affects to fly, that I may fierce pursue:
This fnuff-box which I begg'd, she still deny'd,
And when I ftrove to fnatch it, feem'd to hide;
She laugh'd and fled, and as I fought to feize,
With affectation cram'd it down her stays;
Yet hope fhe did not place it there unseen,
I prefs'd her breafts, and pull'd it from between.
Laft night, as I ftood ogling of her grace, Drinking delicious poifon from her face,
The foft enchantress did that face decline,
Nor ever rais'd her eyes to meet with mine
With fudden art fome fecret did pretend,
Lean'd cross two chairs to whisper to a friend,
While the stiff whalebone with the motion rose,
And thousand beauties to my fight expofe.
Early this morn-(but I was afk'd to come)
I drank bohea in CALIA's dreffing-room:
Warm from her bed, to me alone within,
Her night-gown faften'd with a fingle pin;
Her night-cloaths tumbled with refiftless grace,
And her bright hair play'd carelefs round her face;
Reaching the kettle made her gown unpin,
She wore no waistcoat, and her fhift was thin.
SILLIANDER.
See TITIANA, driving to the park!
Hark! let us follow, 'tis not yet too dark
In her all beauties of the spring are feen,
Her cheeks are rofy, and her mantle green.
PATCH.
See TINTORETTA to the opera goes!
Hafte, or the crowd will not permit our bows;
In her the glory of the heav'ns we view,
Her eyes are ftar-like, and her mantle blue.
What colour does in CALIA's stockings fhine
Reveal that fecret, and the prize is thine.
What are her garters ? tell me if you can ;
I'll freely own thee far the happier man.
Thus PATCH continued his heroick ftrain, While SILLIANDER but contends in vain, After a conqueft fo important gain'd, Unrival'd PATCH in ev'ry ruelle reign'd.
No, fair DANCINDA, no; you strive in vain To calm my care and mitigate my pain;
"If all my fighs, my cares, can fail to move,
"Ah! footh me not with fruitless vows of love."
Thus STREPHON fpoke. DANCINDA thus reply'd:
What must I do to gratify your pride?
Too well you know (ungrateful as thou`art)
How much you triumph in this tender heart:
What proof of love remains for me to grant?.
Yet ftill you tease me with some new complaint.
Oh! would to heav'n!-but the fond wifh is vain-
Too many favours had not made it plain!
But fuch a paffion breaks through all disguise,
Love reddens on my cheek and wishes in my eyes.
Is't not enough (inhuman and unkind!)
I own the fecret conflict of r
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