_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,