But all are troubled, when, with dubious look, Diana questions what Apollo spoke. Here avarice first, the keen desire of gain, Rules in each heart, and works in every brain: Alike the veteran-dames and virgins feel, Nor care what graybeards or what striplings deal; 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 Job 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." "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." "So did you strive, and, madam! with success; I knew no being we could censure less!" Is this too much? Alas! my peaceful 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 partner doesn't know a card - I scorn suspicion, ma'am, but while you stand Behind that lady, pray keep down your hand." "Good heav'n, revoke: remember, if the set Be lost, in honour you should pay the debt." "There, there's your money; but, while I have life, I'll never more sit down with man and wife; They snap and snarl indeed, but in the heat Of all their spleen, their understandings meet; They are Freemasons, and have many a sign, That we, poor devils! never can divine: May it be told, do ye divide th' amount, Or goes it all to family account?" ---------------------