The Tea-Table

Saint James's noon-day bell for prayers had toll'd,
And coaches to the Patron's levee roll'd,
When Doris rose. And now through all the room
From flowery tea exhales a fragrant fume.
Cup after cup they sipt, and talk'd by fits,
For Doris here, and there Melanthe sits.
Doris was young, a laughter-loving dame,
Nice of her own alike and others fame;
Melanthe's tongue could well a tale advance,
And sooner gave than sunk a circumstance:
Lock'd in her mem'ry secrets never died;
Doris begun, Melanthe thus replied.

DORIS
Sylvia the vain fantastic fop admires,
The rake's loose gallantry her bosom fires;
Sylvia like that is vain, like this she roves,
In liking them she but her self approves.

MELANTHE
Laura rails on at men, the sex reviles,
Their vice condemns, or at their folly smiles.
Why should her tongue in just resentment fail,
Since men at her with equal freedom rail?

DORIS
Last masquerade was Sylvia nymph-like seen,
Her hand a crook sustain'd, her dress was green;
An am'rous shepherd led her through the crowd,
The nymph was innocent, the shepherd vow'd;
But nymphs their innocence with shepherds trust;
So both withdrew, as nymph and shepherd must.

MELANTHE
Name but the licence of the modern stage,
Laura takes fire, and kindles into rage;
The whining tragic love she scarce can bear,
But nauseous comedy ne'er shock'd her ear:
Yet in the gall'ry mobb'd, she sits secure,
And laughs at jests that turn the box demure.
Trust not, ye ladies, to your beauty's power,
For beauty withers like a shrivell'd flower;
Yet those fair flowers that Sylvia's temples bind,
Fade not with sudden blights or winter's wind;
Like those her face defies the rolling years,
For art her roses and her charms repairs.

MELANTHE
Laura despises ev'ry outward grace,
The wanton sparkling eye, the blooming face;
The beauties of the soul are all her pride,
For other beauties nature has denied;
If affectation show a beauteous mind,
Lives there a man to Laura's merits blind?
Sylvia be sure defies the town's reproach,
Whose deshabille is soil'd in hackney coach;
What though the sash was closed, must we conclude,
That she was yielding, when her fop was rude?

MELANTHE
Laura learnt caution at too dear a cost.
What fair could e'er retrieve her honour lost?
Secret she loves; and who the nymph can blame,
Who durst not own a footman's vulgar flame?

DORIS
Though Laura's homely taste descends so low;
Her footman well may vie with Sylvia's beau.

MELANTHE
Yet why should Laura think it a disgrace,
When proud Miranda's groom wears Flanders lace?

DORIS
What though for music Cynthio boasts an ear?
Robin perhaps can hum an opera air.
Cynthio can bow, takes snuff, and dances well,
Robin talks common sense, can write and spell;
Sylvia's vain fancy dress and show admires,
But 'tis the man alone who Laura fires.

MELANTHE
Plato's wise morals I aura's soul improve:
And this no doubt must be Platonic love!
Her soul to gen'rous acts was still inclined;
What shows more virtue than an humble mind?

DORIS
What though young Sylvia love the Park's cool shade,
And wander in the dusk the secret glade?
Masqued and alone (by chance) she met her spark,
That innocence is weak which shuns the dark.

MELANTHE
But Laura for her flame has no pretence;
Her footman is a footman too in sense.
All prudes I hate, and those are rightly curst
With scandal's double load, who censure first.

DORIS
And what if Cynthio Sylvia's garter tied!
Who such a foot and such a leg would hide;
When crook -kneed Phillis can expose to view
Her gold clock'd stocking and her tawdry shoe?

MELANTHE
If pure devotion centre in the face,
If cens'ring others show intrinsic grace,
If guilt to public freedoms be confined,
Prudes (all must own) are of the holy kind!

DORIS
Sylvia disdains reserve, and flies constraint:
She neither is, nor would be thought a saint.

MELANTHE
Love is a trivial passion, Laura cries,
May I be blest with friendship's stricter ties;
To such a breast all secrets we commend;
Sure the whole drawing-room is Laura's friend.

DORIS
At marriage Sylvia rails; who men would trust?
Yet husband's jealousies are sometimes just.
Her favours Sylvia shares among mankind,
Such gen'rous love should never be confined.
As thus alternate chat employ'd their tongue,
With thund'ring raps the brazen knocker rung.
Laura with Sylvia came; the nymphs arise:
This unexpected visit, Doris cries,
Is doubly kind! Melanthe Laura led,
Since I was last so blest, my dear, she said,
Sure 'tis an age! They sate; the hour was set;
And all again that night at ombre met.