_Hogarth's_ Picquet, or _Virtue in Danger_, when exhibited at _Spring Gardens_, in _May_, 1761, produced the following explanation: Ye fair, be warn'd, and shun those arts, That faithless men do use for hearts: Weigh o'er and o'er the destin'd man, And oft this little lesson scan; If he his character don't fear, For yours he'll very little care: With scorn repulse the wretch so bold, Nor pawn your virtue for his gold! Of gaming (cards or not) beware, 'Tis very often found a snare; But, lest my precept still should fail, Indulge me--whilst I tell a tale: _Dorinda_, chearful, young, and gay, Oft shone at Balls, at Park, and Play; Blest with a free, engaging air, In short, throughout quite debonnair; (Excuse me--shall I tell the truth?) That bane of misled, heedless youth, Gaming--had quite possess'd her mind, To this (no other vice) inclin'd: She oft would melancholy sit, No partner near for dear Picquet! "At last a cruel spoiler came," And deeply learn'd in all the game; A son of _Mars_, with iron face, Adorn'd with impudence and lace! Acquaintance with her soon he gains, He thinks her virtue worth his pains: Cards (after nonsense) came in course, By sap advances, not by force. The table set, the cards are laid, _Dorinda_ dreams not she's betray'd; The cards run cross, she fumes and frets, Her brilliant necklace soon she betts, She fears her watch, but can't resist, A miniature can scarce be mist! At last both watch and trinkets go, A prey to the devouring foe: Nay more (if fame but tells us true), She lost her di'mond buckles too! Her bracelets next became his prize, And in his hat the treasure lies. Upon her Virtue next he treats, And Honour's sacred name repeats: Tenders the trinkets, swears and lies, And vows her person is a prize! Then swears (with hand upon his breast) That he without her can't be blest! Then plies her with redoubled pains, T' exchange her virtue for his gains: Shame's purple wings o'ershade her face, He triumphs over her disgrace; Soon turns to jest her scruples nice, In short, she falls!--a sacrifice! Spoil'd of her virtue in her prime, And, knowing Heaven detests the crime, Is urg'd, perhaps, to dare his rod, "And rush unsummon'd to her God!" Ye fair, if happiness ye prize, Regard this rule, Be timely wise.