POETRY. 719 



Sex, Age, and Station, vanish from their view. 



And gold, their sov'reign Good, the mingled Crowd pursue. 



Hence they are jealous, and, as Rivals, keep 

 A watchful Eye on the beloved Heap ; 

 Meantime Discretion bids the tongue be still, 

 And mild Good-humour strives with strong Ill-will : 

 Till Prudence fails ; when, all impatient grown. 

 They make their Grief, by their Suspicions known. 



*' Sir, I protest, were Joh himself at play, 

 " He'd rave to see you throw your Cards away ; 

 " Not that I care a button — not a pin 

 •< For what I lose ; but we had Cards to win : 

 " A Saint in Heaven would grieve to see such Hand 

 *• Cut up by one who will not understand." 



i' Complain of me ! and so you might indeed, 

 *' If I had ventured on that foolish Lead, 

 •' That fatal Heart — but I forgot your play— 

 *' Some Folk have ever thrown their Hearts away." 



" Yes, and their Diamonds: I have heard of one 

 " Who made a Beggar of an only Son." 



" Better a Beggar, than to see him tied 



" To Art and Spite, to Insolence and Pride." 



" Sir, were I you, I'd strive to be polite, 

 " Against my nature, for a single Night." 



•' Against their Nature they might show their Skill 

 " With small Success, who're Maids against their will." 



Is this too much ? alas ! my bashful Muse 

 Cannot with half their Virulence abuse. 

 And hark ! at other tables Discord reigns, 

 With feign'd contempt for Losses and for Gains; 

 Passions awhile are bridled ; then they rage, 

 In waspish Youth, and in resentful Age ; 

 With scraps of Insult — " Sir, when next you play, 

 " Reflect whose money 'tis you throw away. 

 " No one on Earth can less such things regard, 

 " But when one's Partaer doesn't know a Card——" 



" I scorn Suspicion Ma'am, but while you stand 

 " Behind that Lady, pray keep down your hand." 



