THE Ridotto al' Fresco, A POEM.


What various Arts attempts the am'rous Swain,
To force the Fair, or her Consent to gain--
Now _Balls_, now _Masquerades_ his Care employ,
And _Play_ and Park alternately give Joy--
Industrious _H----gg----r_, whose magick Brains
Still in their Shell the _Recipe_ retains
Like some good Midwife brings the Plot to light
And helps the lab'ring Swain to _Celia's_ Sight;
For this his Eunuchs in high Buskins tread--
And chaunt harmonious Lays for this,--and _Bread_;
For this the _Assembly's_ fix'd; and the huge Dome
Swells with the Lady's Vows, _when the Stake's gone_.--
For this he forms the vicious Masquerade,
Where Damsels may securely drive their Trade,
For which the Salesman, Chandler, Chairmen loudly pray,
And Pickpockets too, _hail_ the joyful Day--

But now what Tongue can praise the mighty Worth,
Who to _Ridotto_ gave an _English_ Birth;
To him let every Templar bend the Knee,
Receive a Ticket, and give up the Fee:
Let _Drury-Lane_ eternal Columns raise,
And every wanton Wife resound his Praise;
Let Courtiers with implicit Faith obey,
And to their grand Procurer Homage pay.

No more shall _Duchesses_ to _Bath_ repair,