LITMIR.BIZ

      “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,

      Of Asia’s Troops, and Africk’s Sable Sons;

      With like Confusion different Nations fly,

      In various Habits, and of various Dye,

      The pierc’d Battalions dis-united fall

      In Heaps on Heaps; one Fate o’erwhelms them all.

      The Knave of Diamonds now exerts his Arts,

      And wins (oh, shameful Chance!) the Queen of Hearts.

      At this, the Blood the Virgin’s Cheek forsook,

      A livid Paleness spreads o’er all her Look;

      She sees, and trembles at th’ approaching Ill,

      Just in the Jaws of Ruin, and Codille.

      And now, (as oft in some distemper’d State)

      On one nice Trick depends the gen’ral Fate,

      An Ace of Hearts steps forth; The King, unseen,

      Lurk’d in her Hand, and mourn’d his captive Queen.

      He springs to Vengeance with an eager Pace,

      And falls like Thunder on the prostrate Ace.

      The Nymph exulting, fills with Shouts the Sky,

      The Walls, the Woods, and long Canals reply.”