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When they describe the state of eastern Lords,
Pomp and magnificence should swell their words;
And when they paint the serpent's scaly pride,
Their lines should hiss, their numbers smoothly slide ;
But they, unmindful cf Poetick rules,
Describe alike Mockaws, and great Moguls.
Dampier would thus, without ill-meaning fatire,
Dress forth in fimple stile the Petit-maitre.

In Paris, there's a race of animali.
(I've seen them at their Operas and Balls !
They fia:d erect, they dance when-r'er they walk,
Monkeys in action, perroquets in talk ;
They're crotund with featbers, lise the cockatoo
And, like camelions, daily change their hue ;
From patches jufily plac'd they borrow graces,
And with vermilion lacker o'er their faces,
This custom, as we visibly difcern,
They, by frequenting Ladies toilettes, learn.
Thus might the trav'ler eafy truth impart.
Into the subject let me nobly start!

How happy lives the man, how fure to charm,
Whose knot embroider'd futters down his arm !
On him the Ladies cast the yielding glance,
Sigh in his fongs, and languish in his dance ;
While wretched is the Wit, contemn’d, forlorn,
Whose gummy hat no scarlet plumes adorn;
No broider'd flowers his worsted ankle grace,
Nor cane emboss'd with gold directs his pace;
No Lady's favour on his sword is hung.
What, though Apollo dictate from his tongue,
His wit is fpiritless and void of grace,
Who wants the assurance of brocade and lace.
While the gay fop genteely talks of weather,
The fair in raptures doat upon his feather ;

Like a Court-Lady though he write and spell,
His minuet step was fashion’d by † Marcell;
He dresses, fences. What avails to know ?
For women chuse their men, like filks, for show.
Is this the thing, you cry, that Paris boasts ?
Is this the thing renown'd among our toalts ?
For such a flutt'ring fight we need not roam ;
Our own assemblies Thine with these at home.

Let us into the field of beauty start ;
Beauty's a theme that ever warm’d my heart.
Think not, ye Fair, that I the sex accuse :
How fhall I spare you, prompted by the Muse?
(The Muses all are Prudes) she rails, the frets,
Amidst this sprightly nation of coquettes ;
Yet let not us their loose coquett’ry blame ;
Women of ev'ry nation are the same.

You ask me, if Parisian dames, like ours,
With rattling dice prophane the Sunday's hours ;
If they the gamelter's pale-ey'd vigils keep,
And stake their honour while their husbands sleep?
Yes, Sir; like English Toasts, the dames of France
Will risque their income on a single chance.
Nannette last night a tricking Pharaob play'd,
The cards the Taillier's sliding hand obey'd,
To-day her neck no brilliant circle wears,
Nor the ray-darting pendant loads her ears.
Why does old Chloris an Assembly hold?
Chloris each night divides the sharper's gold.
Corinna's cheek with frequent loffes burns,
And no bold Trente le vo her fortune turns.
Ah too rash virgin ! where's thy virtue fown?
She pawns her person for the sharper's loan.

+ A famous dansing-master.


on her

Yet who with justice can the fair upbraid,
Whose debts of honour are so duely paid ?

But let me not forget the Toillette's cares,
Where art each morn the languid cheek repairs :
This red's too pale, nor gives a diftant grace;
Madanie to day puts on her Opera face;
From t is we fcarce extra&t the milk-maid's bloom,
Bring the deep dye that warms across the room:
Now flames her cheek, so strong her charms prevail,
That gown

the filken rose looks pale !
Not but that France fome native beauty boasts,
Clermont and Charolais might grace our Toasts.

When the sweet-breathing spring unfolds the buds,
Love flies, the dusty town for shady woods.
Then Totenham fields with roving beauty swarm,
And Hampstead Balls the city virgin warm,
Then Chelsea's meads o'erhear perfidious vows,
And the prest grafs defrauds the grazing cows.
'Tis here the fame ; but in a higher sphere,
For ev'n Court Ladies fin in open air.
What Cit with a gallant would trut his spouse
Beneath the tempting shade of Greenwich boughs ?
What Peer of France would let his Duchess rove,
Where Bologne's closest woods invite to love?
But here no wife can blaft her husband's fame,
Cuckold is grown an honourable name.
Stretch'd on the grass the shepherd fighs his pain,
And on the grass what shepherd sighs in vain ?
On Chloe's lap here Damon lay'd along,
Melts with the languish of her am'rous song ;
There Iris Alies Palæmon through the glade,
Nor trips by chance till in the thickest fhade ;
Here Celimene defends her lips and breast,
For kiffes are by struggling clofer prest;



Alexis there with


grows bold,
Nor can the nymph his wanton fingers hold;
Be wise, Alexis ; what, so near the road !
Hark, a coach rolls, and husbands are abroad!
Such were our pleasures in the days of yore,
When am'rous Charles Britannia's fceptre bore ;
The nightly scene of joy the Park was made,
And Love in couples peopled every shade.
But since at Court the rural taste is lost,
What mighty sums have velvet couches coft!

Sometimes the Tuillerie's gaudy walk I love,
Where I through crowds of ruftling manteau's rove;
As here from side to side my eyes I caft,
And gaz'd on all the glitt'ring train that paft.
Sudden a fop steps forth before the rest ;
I knew the bold embroidery of his veft.
He thus accosts me with familiar air,
Parbleau! on a fait set habit en Angleterre !
Quelle manche ! ce galon est grossiérement rangé ;
Voila quelque chose de fort beau et degagé !
This said: On his red heel he turns, and then
Hums a soft minuet, and proceeds agen.
Well; now you've Paris feen, you'll frankly own
Your boasted London seems a country town;
Has Chriftianity yet reach'd your nation ?
Are churches built? Are Masquerades in fashion?
Do daily Soups your dinners introduce ??
Are musick, snuff, and coaches yet in use ??
Pardon me, Sir; we know the Paris mode,
And gather Pelitese from Courts abroad.

you, our Courtiers keep a num’rous train To load their coach; and tradesmen dun in vain. Nor has religion left us in the lurch, And, as in France, our vulgar crowd the Church;


Our Ladies too support the Masquerade,
The sex by nature love th' intriguing trade.
Straight the vain fop in ign’rant rapture cries,
Paris the barbarous world will civilize !
Pray, Sir, point out among the passing band
The present Beauties who the town command.
See yonder dame ; Arie virtue chills her breaff,
Mark in her eye demure the Prude profeft ;
That frozen bosom native fire must want,
Which boafts of constancy to one gallant !
This next the spoils of fifty lovers wears,
Rich Dandin's brilliant favours grace

ber ears ;
The necklace Florio's gen'rous flame be tow'd,
Clitander's sparkling gems her finger load;
But now her charms grow cheap by constant use,
She fins for scarfs, clock'd stockings, knots, and shoes.
This next, with fober gait and serious leer,
Wearies her knees with morn and ev’ning prayer ;
She foorns tb'ignoble love of feeble pages,
But with tkree Abbots in one night engages.
This with the cardinal her nights employs,
Where bely finews confecrate ber joys.
W by bave I promis'd things beyond my power!
Five allignations wait me at this hourd
The Sprightly Countess first my vifit claims,
To-morrow shall indulge inferior dames.
Pardon Sir, that thus I take


leave, Gay Florimella sily twitch'd my Neeve. Adieu, Monsieur The Opera hour draws near. Not see the Opera ! all the world is there ; Where on the stage th' embroider'd youth of France In bright array attract the female glance : This languishes, this struts, to show his mien, And not a gold clock'd stocking ves unseen.



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