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At marriage Sylvia rails; who men would trust?
Yet husbands' jealousies are sometimes juft.
Her favours Sylvia shares among mankind :
Such generous love should never be confin'd.
As thus alternate chat employ'd their tongue, With thundering raps the brazen knocker rung. Laura and Sylvia came; the nymphs arise ; “ This unexpected visit,” Doris cries, “ Is doubly kind !" Melanthe Laura led : “ Since I was last so blest, my dear,” she said, “ Sure 'tis an age !” They sate; the hour was fet ; And all again that night at Ombre met.
SABINA. LUCY. TWI
WICE had the moon perform’d her monthly race,
Since first the veil o'ercast Sabina's face.
Then died the tender partner of her bed.
And lives Sabina when Fidelio 's dead ?
Fidelio’s dead, and yet Sabina lives.
But see the tribute of her tears she gives :
Their abfent Lord her rooms in sable mourn,
And all the day the glimmering tapers burn;
Stretch'd on the couch of state the pensive lies,
While oft the snowy cambric wipes her
Now enter'd Lucy: trusty Lucy knew
To roll a sleeve, or bear a billet-doux;
Her ready tongue, in secret service try'd,
With equal fluency spoke truth or ly’d;
She well could flush or humble a gallant,
And serve at once as maid and confidant !
A letter from her faithful stays she took :
Sabina snatch'd it with an angry look,
And thus in hasty words her grief confest ;
While Lucy strove to sooth her troubled breast.
What, ftill Myrtillo's hand! his flame I scorn;
Give back his passion with the seal untorn.
To break our soft repose has man a right?
And are we doom'd to read whate'er they write ?
Not all the sex my firm resolves shall move;
My life's a life of forrow, not of love.
May Lydia's wrinkles all
And Celia's paleness ficken o'er my face ;
May fops of mine, as Flavia's favours, boast,
And coquettes triumph in my honour lost;
May cards employ my nights, and never more
May these curft eyes behold a maradore ;
Break China, perish Shock, die Perroquet;
When I Fidelio's dearer love forget!
Fidelio's judgement fcorn'd the foppith train ;
His air was easy, and his dress was plain ;
His words sincere, respect his presence drew,
And on his lips sweet conversation grew.
Where's wit, where 's beauty, where is virtue fied ?
Alas ! they 're now no more; Fidelio 's dead !
Yet, when he liv’d, he wanted every grace;
That easy air was then an aukward pace :
Have not your sighs in whispers often said,
His dress was slovenly, his speech ill-bred ?
Have not I heard you, with a secret tear,
Call that sweet converse fullen and severe ?
Think not I come to take Myrtillo's part;
Let Chloe, Daphne, Doris, fare his heart;
Let Chloc's love in every ear express
His graceful person and genteel address.
All well may judge what shaft has Daphne hit,
Who suffers filence, to admire his wit.
His equipage and liveries Doris move;
But Chloe, Daphne, Doris, fondly love.
Sooner shall Cits in fashions guide the Court,
And beaux upon the busy Change resort ;
Sooner the nation shall from snuff be freed,
And fops’ apartments smoak with India's weed;
Sooner I'd with and figh through nunnery grates;
Than recommend the flame Sabina hates.
Because some widows are in haste fubdued ;
Shall every' fop upon our tears intrude ?
Can I forget my lov'd Fidelio's tongue,
Soft as the warbling of Italian song?
Did not his rofy lips breathe forth perfume,
Fragrant as stcams from tea's imperial bloom ?
Yet once you thought that tongue a greater curse
Than fqualls of children for an absent nurse.
Have you not fancy'd, in his frequent kiss,
Th' ungrateful leavings of a filthy Miss ?
Love, I thy power defy; no second flame
Shall ever raze my dear Fidelio 's name.
Fannia without a tear might lose her Lord,
Who ne'er enjoy'd his prelence but at bpard.
And why should sorrow fit on Lesbia's face ?
Are there such comforts in a fot's embrace ?
No friend, no lover, is to Lesbia dead;
For Lesbia long had known a separate bed.
Guth forth, ye tears ; waste, waste, ve fighs, my breast;
My days, my nights, were by Fidelio blest !
You cannot sure forget how oft' you said,
His teazing fondness jealousy betray'd!
When at the play the neighbouring box he took,
You thought you read suspicion in his look.
When cards and counters flew around the board,
Have you not wish'd the absence of
His company was then a poor pretence,
To check the freedoms of a wife's expence ?
But why should I Myrtillo's passion blame,
Since Love's a fierce, involuntary flame ?
Could he the fallies of his heart withstand,
Why should he not to Chloe give his hand ?
For Chloe's handsome; yet he slights her flame
Last night she fainted at Sabina's name.
Why, Daphne, dost thou blame Sabina's charms ?
Sabina keeps no lover from thy arms.
At crimp Myrtillo play'd ; in kind regards
Doris threw love, unmindful of the cards ;
Doris was touch'd with spleen ; her fan he rent,
Flew from the table, and to tears gave vent.