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Breakfasts and auctions wear the morn away,
Each evening gives an opera, or a play ;
Then Brag's eternal joys all night remain,
And kindly usher in the morn again.

;

For love no time has fhe, or inclination,
Yet muft coquet it for the fake of fashion
For this fhe liftens to each fop that's near,
Th' embroider'd colonel flatters with a fneer,
And the cropt enfign nuzzles in her ear.
But with moft warmth her dress and airs inspire
Th' ambitious bosom of the landed 'fquire,
Who fain would quit plump Dolly's fofter charms,
For wither'd lean right honourable arms;
He bows with reverence at her facred fhrine,
And treats her as if fprung from race divine,
Which the returns with infolence and scorn,
Nor deigns to fmile on a plebeian born.

Ere long by friends, by cards, and lovers cross'd,
Her fortune, health, and reputation loft ;

Her money gone, yet not a tradesman paid,
Her fame, yet fhe ftill damn'd to be a maid,
Her fpirits fink, her nerves are fo unftrung,
She weeps, if but a handfome thief is hung:
By mercers, lacemen, mantua-makers prefs'd,
But most for ready cash for play distress'd,
Where can she turn ?—the 'fquire must all repair,
She condefcends to liften to his pray'r,
And marries him at length in mere despair.

}

But

But foon th' endearments of a husband cloy, Her foul, her frame incapable of joy :

She feels no transports in the bridal bed,

Of which so oft fh' has heard, so much has read;
Then vex'd, that she should be condemn'd alone
To seek in vain this philofophick stone,

To abler tutors fhe refolves t'apply,

A proftitute from curiosity :

Hence men of ev'ry sort, and ev'ry fize,
Impatient for heav'n's cordial drop, she tries;
The fribbling beau, the rough unwieldy clown,
The ruddy templar newly on the town,
Th' Hibernian captain of gigantic make,
The brimful parfon, and th' exhausted rake.
But ftill malignant Fate her with denies,
Cards yield fuperior joys, to cards fhe flies;
All night from rout to rout her chairmen run,
Again the plays, and is again undone.

Behold her now in Ruin's frightful jaws !
Bonds, judgments, executions ope their paws;
Seize jewels, furniture, and plate, nor spare
The gilded chariot, or the toffel'd chair,
For lonely seat she's forc'd to quit the town,
And Tubbs conveys the wretched exile down.

Now rumbling o'er the ftones of Tyburn-road,
Ne'er prefs'd with a more griev'd or guilty load,
She bids adieu to all the well known streets,
And envies ev'ry cinder-wench the meets :

And

And now the dreaded

country first appears, With fighs unfeign'd the dying noise the hears Of diftant coaches fainter by degrees,

Then starts and trembles at the fight of trees.
Silent and fullen, like fome captive queen,
She's drawn along, unwilling to be seen,
Until at length appears the ruin'd hall
Within the grafs green moat, and ivy'd wall,
The doleful prison where for ever.fhe,
But not, alas! her griefs, must bury'd be.

Her coach the curate and the tradefmen meet,
Great-coated tenants her arrival greet,
And boys with stubble bonfires light the ftreet,
While bells her ears with tongues difcordant grate,
Types of the nuptial tyes they celebrate :
But no rejoicings can unbend her brow,
Nor deigns fhe to return one aukward bow,
But bounces in difdaining once to speak,
And wipes the trickling tear from off her cheek.

Now fee her in the fad decline of life,

A peevish mistress, and a fulky wife;

Her nerves unbrac'd, her faded cheek grown palè
With many a real, many a fancy'd ail

1;

Of cards, admirers, equipage bereft,
Her infolence, and title only left;
Severely humbled to her one-horse chair,
And the low pastimes of a country fair:

}

Too

Too wretched to endure one lonely day,
Too proud one friendly visit to repay,

Too indolent to read, too criminal to pray.

At length half dead, half mad, and quite confin'd,
Shunning, and shunn'd by all of human kind,
Ev'n robb'd of the last comfort of her life,
Infulting the poor curate's callous wife,

Pride, disappointed pride, now ftops her breath,
And with true fcorpion rage she stings herself to death.

HOU, whom nor honours, wealth, nor youth can spoil

ΤΗ

With the leaft vice of each luxuriant foil,

Say, YORKE, (for fure, if any, you can tell)
What Virtue is, who practise it so well;
Say, where inhabits this Sultana queen ;
Prais'd and ador'd by all, but rarely feen:
By what fure marks her effence can we trace,
When each religion, faction, age, and place

Set

Sets

up

fome fancy'd idol of its own,
A vain pretender to her facred throne?
In man, too oft a well-diffembled part,
A felf-denying pride in woman's heart,
In fynods faith, and in the fields of fame
Valour ufurps her honours, and her name.
Whoe'er their sense of virtue wou'd express,
Tis ftill by fomething they themselves poffefs.
Hence youth good-humour, frugal craft old age,
Warm politicians term it party-rage;

True churchmen zeal right orthodox; and hence
Fools think it gravity, and wits pretence;
To conftancy alone fond lovers join it,
And maids unafk'd to chastity confine it,

But have we then no law befides our will?
No just criterion fix'd to good and ill?
As well at noon we may obftruct our fight,
Then doubt if fuch a thing exists as light;
For no less plain wou'd nature's law appear,
As the meridian fun unchang'd, and clear,
Wou'd we but fearch for what we were defign'd,

And for what end th' Almighty form'd mankind,
A rule of life we then should plainly fee,

For to pursue that end muft Virtue be.

Then what is that? not want of power, or fame, Or worlds unnumber'd to applaud his name,

But a defire his bleffings to diffuse,

And fear left millions fhould existence lofe;

3

His