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At marriage Sylvia rails; who men would truft?
Yet husbands' jealoufies are sometimes juft.
Her favours Sylvia fhares among mankind :
Such generous love fhould 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 vifit," Doris cries,
"Is doubly kind!" Melanthe Laura led:
"Since I was last so bleft, my dear,” she said,
"Sure 'tis an age !" They fate; the hour was fet;
And all again that night at Ombre met.
WICE had the moon perform'd her monthly race,
Since firft the veil o'ercaft 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 fee the tribute of her tears he gives:
Their abfent Lord her rooms in fable mourn,
And all the day the glimmering tapers burn;
Stretch'd on the couch of ftate fhe penfive lies,
While oft' the fnowy cambric wipes her eyes.
Now enter'd Lucy: trufty Lucy knew
To roll a fleeve, or bear a billet-doux;
Her ready tongue, in fecret fervice try'd,
With equal fluency fpoke truth or ly'd ;
She well could flush or humble a gallant,
And ferve at once as maid and confidant!
A letter from her faithful ftays she took :
Sabina fnatch'd it with an angry look,
And thus in hafty words her grief confeft;
While Lucy ftrove to footh her troubled breast.
What, ftill Myrtillo's hand! his flame I scorn;
Give back his paffion with the feal untorn.
To break our foft repose has man a right?
And are we doom'd to read whate'er they write?
Not all the fex my firm refolves shall move;
My life's a life of forrow, not of love.
May Lydia's wrinkles all my forehead trace,
And Celia's palenefs ficken o'er my face;
May fops of mine, as Flavia's favours, boast,
And coquettes triumph in my honour loft;
May cards employ my nights, and never more
May these curft eyes behold a matadore ;
Break China, perifh Shock, die Perroquet;
When I Fidelio's dearer love forget!
Fidelio's judgement fcorn'd the foppifh train ;
His air was easy, and his dress was plain ;
His words fincere, refpect his prefence drew,
And on his lips fweet converfation grew.
Where's wit, where 's beauty, where is virtue fled ?
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 fighs in whispers often faid,
His dress was flovenly, his fpeech ill-bred ?
Have not I heard you, with a fecret tear,
Call that sweet converfe fullen and fevere?
Think not I come to take Myrtillo's part;
Let Chloe, Daphne, Doris, fhare his heart;
Let Chloe's love in every ear exprefs
His graceful perfon and genteel addrefs.
All well may judge what fhaft has Daphne hit,
Who fuffers filence, to admire his wit.
His equipage and liveries Doris move;
But Chloe, Daphne, Doris, fondly love.
Sooner fhall Cits in fafhions guide the Court,
And beaux upon the bufy Change refort;
Sooner the nation fhall from fnuff be freed,
And fops' apartments fmoak with India's weed;
Sooner I'd with and figh through nunnery-grates;
Than recommend the flame Sabina hates.
Because fome widows are in hafte fubdued;
Shall every fop upon our tears intrude?
Can I forget my lov'd Fidelio's tongue,
Soft as the warbling of Italian fong?
Did not his rofy lips breathe forth perfume,
Fragrant as fteams from tea's imperial bloom?
Yet once you thought that tongue a greater curfe
Than fqualls of children for an absent nurse.
Have you not fancy'd, in his frequent kifs,
Th' ungrateful leavings of a filthy Mifs?
Love, I thy power defy; no fecond flame
Shall ever raze my dear Fidelio 's name.
Fannia without a tear might lofe her Lord,
Who ne'er enjoy'd his prefence but at board.
And why fhould forrow fit on Lesbia's face?
Are there fuch comforts in a fot's embrace ?
No friend, no lover, is to Lesbia dead;
For Lesbia long had known a separate bed.
Gufh forth, ye tears; wafte, wafte, ve fighs, my breast; My days, my nights, were by Fidelio blest!
You cannot fure forget how oft' you faid,
His teazing fondness jealoufy betray'd!
When at the play the neighbouring box he took,
You thought you read fufpicion in his look.
When cards and counters flew around the board,
Have you not wifh'd the abfence of your Lord?
His company was then a poor pretence,
To check the freedoms of a wife's expence ?
But why should I Myrtillo's paffion blame,
Since Love's a fierce, involuntary flame ?
Could he the fallies of his heart withstand,
Why fhould he not to Chloe give his hand?
For Chloe's handsome; yet he flights her flame;
Last night she fainted at Sabina's name.
Why, Daphne, doft 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 fpleen; her fan he rent,
Flew from the table, and to tears gave vent.