The basset-table spread, the tallier come; Why stays Smilinda in the dressing-room? Rise, pensive nymph, the tallier waits for you! SMILINDA. Ah, madam, since my Sharper is untrue, I joyless make my once adored Alpeu. I saw him stand behind Ombrelia's chair, And whisper with that soft, deluding air, And those feign'd sighs which cheat the listening fair. CARDELIA. Is this the cause of your romantic strains? A mightier grief my heavy heart sustains. 10 As you by love, so I by fortune cross'd, One, one bad deal, three Septlevas have lost. SMILINDA. Is that the grief, which you compare with mine? With ease, the smiles of Fortune I resign: Would all my gold in one bad deal were gone! Were lovely Sharper mine, and mine alone. CARDELIA. A lover lost, is but a common care; And prudent nymphs against that change prepare: The Knave of Clubs thrice lost! Oh! who could guess This fatal stroke, this unforeseen distress? 20 SMILINDA. See Betty Lovet! very _apropos_ She all the cares of love and play does know: Dear Betty shall th' important point decide; Betty, who oft the pain of each has tried; Impartial, she shall say who suffers most, By cards' ill usage, or by lovers lost. LOVET. Tell, tell your griefs; attentive will I stay, Though time is precious, and I want some tea. CARDELIA. Behold this equipage, by Mathers wrought, With fifty guineas (a great pen'orth) bought. 30 See, on the tooth-pick, Mars and Cupid strive; And both the struggling figures seem alive. Upon the bottom shines the queen's bright face; A myrtle foliage round the thimble-case. Jove, Jove himself, does on the scissors shine; The metal, and the workmanship, divine! SMILINDA. This snuff-box,--once the pledge of Sharper's love, When rival beauties for the present strove; At Corticelli's he the raffle won; Then first his passion was in public shown: 40 Hazardia blush'd, and turn'd her head aside, A rival's envy (all in vain) to hide. This snuff-box,--on the hinge see brilliants shine: This snuff-box will I stake; the prize is mine. CARDELIA. Alas! far lesser losses than I bear, Have made a soldier sigh, a lover swear. And oh! what makes the disappointment hard, 'Twas my own lord that drew the fatal card. In complaisance, I took the Queen he gave; Though my own secret wish was for the Knave. 50 The Knave won Sonica, which I had chose; And the next pull, my Septleva I lose. SMILINDA.