_Sylvia_, a Lady, kept by twenty Beaux, Who never yet could brook the Marriage Noose, By each a Ticket offer'd, scorns 'em all, In hopes some Fool at last will Victim fall, And, kindly offer Treat and Ticket too, Which to her Charms she thinks most justly due; At last a brisk young _Templar_ full of Fire, Whom Writs with _Money_, Wine with Love inspire, Address'd the Dame, she yeilds his glowing Charms, And for a Ticket flies into his Arms: So every _dapper Fop_ and _brawny Rake_ Will Tickets to their Ladies Presents make; To Sin, the only certain Dedication, To every gentle Mistress in the Nation, From Suburb Whore, to ranting Dame of Fashion; For none's so niece as to refuse the Suit, But grasps the Tree tho' 'tis _forbidden Fruit_. _Near_ where _the Thames_ in pleasant Windings runs, _Near_ where the famous Glass-house fiercely burns, (Which to the Love of poor desponding Swains, An Emblem terrible, but just retains.) _Near_ where fam'd _Vaux_ was to have fled, _With_ lighted Match, soon as he'd done the Deed; Whence some pretend to say by second Sight, That it foreshew'd the Fate attends this Night, 'Cause here the Fair will many _Matches light_. _Spring-Gardens_ lie shaded with verdant Trees, That nod their reverend Heads at every Breeze; Embassadors like _Turks_ hence send Express, And _Ministers of State_ like Devils dress-- Should some wild _Indian_ see the various Scene, He'd swear all Nations of the Earth do here convene, And take for quite reverse this medley Farce, Think Strumpers Saints, or catstick'd Beau a _Mars_. But now the Dancers nimble Feet go round, And with just Measures beat the passive Ground, Each one inclines to different Delights-- Musick the Fair, Sweetmeats the Beau invite; The _Templar_ wisely does his Care enroll, Pockets the Pheasant, and eats up the Fowls Nor will return to join the giddy Rout, 'Till he has eat and drank his _Guinea_ out. Now Dancing fires the Nymph to softer Joys; The Musick's dull, the Wine and Sweetmeat cloys; _Strephon_ streight takes the Hint, withdraws a-while, By soft Endearments does her Grief beguile; Soon they return more vig'rous than before, Do what they will, she cannot be a Whore. For _Mahomet_ may dream of heavenly Stews, Where Virgin Rose, soon as it's lost, renews, And shake with every Breath of Air serene, As trembling for the Rapes they've daily seen; When if those past can shake their Height profound, _Ridotto_ sure will fell them to the Ground; Here Art to Nature join'd makes it compleat, And Pyramids and Trees together meet; Statues amidst the thickest Grove arise, And lofty Columns tow'ring to the Skies; Then next an Obelisk its Shade displays, And rustic Rockwork fills each empty Space; Each joins to make it noble, and excells Beaufets for Food, Grotto's for something else.