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And read it, like a jocund lover,

With great applause, t' himself, twice over;

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With leffons how t obferve and eye her.
She first confider'd which was better,

To fend it back, or burn the letter:
But gueffing that it might import,
Tho' nothing else, at least her sport,
She open'd it, and read it outy

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With many a smile and leering flout;
Refolv'd to answer it in kind,

And thus perform'd what she design'd.

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TO THE KNIGHT.

THAT you 're a beast, and turn'd to grafs,
Is no ftrange news, nor ever was,

At leaft to me, who once, you know,
Did from the pound replevin you,
When both your fword and spurs were won
In combat by an Amazon;

That fword that did, like Fate, determin
Th' inevitable death of vermin,

And never dealt its furious blows,
But cut the throats of pigs and cows,
By Trulla was, in single fight,
Difarm'd and wrested from its Knight,
Your heels degraded of your fpurs,
And in the stocks elofe prisoners,
Where still they 'ad lain, in base restraint,
If 1, in pity' of your complaint,
Had not, on hon'rable conditions,
Releas'd them from the worst of prisons;
And what return that favour met
You cannot (tho' you wou'd) forget;
When, being free, you ftrove t' evade
The oaths you had in prifon made;
Forfwore yourself, and firft deny'd it,
But after own'd, and justify'd it,

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And when
ye 'ad falfely broke one vow,
Abfolv'd yourself by breaking two:
For while you sneakingly submit,
And beg for pardon at our feet,
Difcourag'd by your guilty fears,
To hope for quarter for your ears,
And doubting 't was in vain to fue
You claim us boldly as your due,
Declare that treachery and force,
To deal with us, is th' only course;
We have no title nor pretence

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To body, foul, or confcience,

But ought to fall to that man's fhare

That claims us for his proper ware:

These are the motives which, t' induce,

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That cannot at our persons aim,
But fomething capable of claim.

'Tis not those paltry counterfeit
French ftones, which in our eyes you fet,
But our right diamonds, that inspire
And fet your am'rous hearts on fire;
Nor can thofe falfe St. Martin's beads

Which on our lips you lay for reds,
And make us wear like Indian Dames,
Add fuel to your fcorching flames,
But thofe true rubies of the rock,
Which in our cabinets we lock.
'Tis not those orient pearls, our teeth,
That you are so transported with,
But those we wear about our necks,
Produce thofe amorous effects.

Nor is't those threads of gold, our hair,
The periwigs you make us wear,
But those bright guineas in our chefts,
That light the wildfire in your breafts.
Thefe lovetricks I've been vers'd in fo,
That all their fly intrigues I know,
And can unriddle, by their tones,
Their mystick cabals, and jargones;
Can tell what paffions, by their founds,
Pine for the beauties of my grounds;
What raptures fond and amorous,
O'th' charms and graces of my house;

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What ecstasy and scorching flame,
Burns for my money in my name;
What, from th' unnatural defire
To beasts and cattle, takes its fire;
What tender figh, and trickling tear,
Longs for a thousand pounds a-year;
And languishing transports are fond
Of ftatute, mortgage, bill, and bond.

These are th' attracts which most men fall
Enamour'd, at first fight, withal,

To these they' address with serenades,
And court with balls and masquerades;
And yet, for all the yearning pain
Ye've fuffer'd for their loves in vain,
I fear they'll prove so nice and coy,
To have, and t' hold, and to enjoy;
That, all your oaths, and labour loft,
They'll ne'er turn Ladies of the Poft.
This is not meant to disapprove
Your judgment, in your choice of love,
Which is fo wife, the greatest part
Of mankind ftudy't as an art;
For love fhou'd, like a deodand,

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