“Meanwhile declining from the Noon of Day, The Sun obliquely shoots his burning Ray; The hungry Judges soon the Sentence sign, And Wretches hang, that Jury-men may Dine; The Merchant from th’ _Exchange_ returns in Peace, And the long Labours of the _Toilette_ cease— _Belinda_ now, whom Thirst of Fame invites, Burns to encounter two adventrous Knights, At _Ombre_ singly to decide their Doom; And swells her Breast with Conquests yet to come. Strait the three Bands prepare in Arms to join, Each Band the number of the Sacred Nine. Soon as she spreads her Hand, th’ Aerial Guard Descend, and sit on each important Card: First, _Ariel_ perch’d upon a _Matadore_, Then each, according to the Rank they bore; For _Sylphs_, yet mindful of their ancient Race, Are, as when Women, wondrous fond of Place. Behold, four _Kings_ in Majesty rever’d, With hoary Whiskers and a forky Beard; And four fair _Queens_ whose hands sustain a Flow’r, Th’ expressive Emblem of their softer Pow’r; Four _Knaves_ in Garbs succinct, a trusty Band, Caps on their heads, and Halberds in their hand; And Particolour’d Troops, a shining Train, Draw forth to Combat on the Velvet Plain. The skilful Nymph reviews her Force with Care, _Let Spades be Trumps_, she said, and Trumps they were. Now move to War her Sable _Matadores_, In Show, like Leaders of the swarthy _Moors_. _Spadillo_ first, unconquerable Lord! Led off two captive Trumps, and swept the Board. As many more _Manillio_ forc’d to yield, And march’d a Victor from the verdant Field. Him _Basto_ follow’d, but his Fate, more hard, Gain’d but one Trump and one Plebeian Card. With his broad Sabre, next, a Chief in Years, The hoary Majesty of _Spades_ appears; Puts forth one manly Leg, to sight reveal’d; The rest, his many-colour’d Robe conceal’d. The Rebel-_Knave_, that dares his Prince engage, Proves the just Victim of his Royal Rage. Ev’n mighty _Pam_, that Kings and Queens o’erthrew, And mow’d down Armies in the Fights of _Loo_, Sad Chance of War! now, destitute of Aid, Falls undistinguish’d by the Victor Spade! Thus far, both Armies to _Belinda_ yield; Now, to the _Baron_ Fate inclines the Field. His warlike _Amazon_ her Host invades, Th’ Imperial Consort of the Crown of _Spades_. The _Club’s_ black Tyrant first her Victim dy’d, Spite of his haughty Mien, and barb’rous Pride: What boots the Regal Circle on his Head, His Giant Limbs in State unwieldy spread? That, long behind, he trails his pompous Robe, And, of all Monarchs, only grasps the Globe. The _Baron_, now his _Diamonds_ pours apace; Th’ embroider’d _King_ who shows but half his Face, And his refulgent _Queen_, with Pow’rs combin’d, Of broken Troops an easie Conquest find. _Clubs_, _Diamonds_, _Hearts_, in wild Disorder seen, With Throngs promiscuous strow the level Green. Thus, when dispers’d, a routed Army runs,