"For what young flirt, bafe man, am I abus'd ? "To please your wife am I unkindly us'd ?

" "Tis true her face may boast the peach's bloom;
"But does her nearer whisper breathe perfume?
"I own her taper shape is form'd to please ;
"But don't you fee her unconfin'd by stays?
"She doubly to fifteen may claim pretence;
"Alike we read it in her face and fenfe.
"Infipid, fervile thing! whom I disdain!
"Her phlegm can beft fupport the marriage chain.
"DAMON is practis'd in the modish 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 spleen or care, "She can a fullen hufband's humour bear; "Her credulous friendship, and her ftupid eafe, "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 fmile, not daring to fufpect? "No, perjur'd man! wife may be content, "But you fhall find a miflrefs can resent." Thus love-fick LYDIA rav'd; her maid appears, And in her faithful hand the band-box bears;

(The

(The Ceftos 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! fo fair!
"'Tis to your eyes the head-drefs owes its air!”
Strait LYDIA fmil'd, the comb adjusts her locks
And at the play-houfe, HARRY keeps her box.

i

SATURDAY,

The SMALL-POX.

FLAVIA 2.

HE wretched FLAVIA, on her couch reclin'd,

TH

Thus breath'd the anguish of a wounded mind
A glass revers'd in her right hand she bore,
For now the 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?

Lady Mary Wortley Montague.

10

Then

Then with what pleasure I this face furvey'd f
To look once more, my vifits oft delay'd!
• Charm'd with a view, a fresher red would rife,
And a new life shot sparkling from my eyes!

Ah! faithlefs glafs, my wonted bloom reftore;
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 could forget!)
When opera-tickets pour'd before my feet;
And at the ring, where brightest beauties fhine,
• The earliest cherries of the spring were mine.
Witness, O Lilly; and thou, Motteux, tell,
How much japan thefe eyes have made ye fell.
• With what contempt ye faw 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 prefents 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.

b This perfon was a perfumer, at the corner of Beaufort's Buildings in the Strand. His name often occurs in the Spectator, the Tatler, and the Guardian,

• For

For me the Wit to nonsense was betray'd; The Gamefter has for me his dun delay'd, • And overfeen the card he would have play'd. • The bold and haughty by success 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 turn my weeping eyes, New unaffected scenes of forrow rise.

Far from my fight that killing picture bear, • The face disfigure, and the canvass 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 on fome happier nymph your aid beftow;
On fairer heads, ye useless jewels, glow;

'No borrow'd luftre can my charms restore ;

6

Beauty is fled, and dress is now no more.

Ye meaner beauties, I permit ye shine;

'Go, triumph in the arts that once were mine;

' But, 'midft your triumphs with confusion know, 'Tis to my ruin all your arms ye owe.

}

Would

Would pitying heav'n reftore 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 save a trembling maid ? How falfe and trifling is that art ye boast ! •No art can give me back my beauty lost. 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,

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

GALEN, the grave: officious SQUIRT was there, With fruitlefs 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 fall again be well, again be fair ;
Believe my oath (with that an oath he fwore)
Falfe was his oath; my beauty is no more!

Ceafe, hapless maid, no more thy tale purfue, • Forfake mankind, and bid the world adieu ! • Monarchs and beauties rule with equal fway; All ftrive to ferve, and glory to obey :