Miscellanies (1785) :: :: University of Virginia Library

CARDS,

PRO AND CON.

A FRAGMENT .

The cards invite. Mortal thy verse too light,
Too frolic and fantastical appears,
Ill-sorted to our theme: far loftier lines,
Such as of old majestic Milton chose,
When he the mighty and soul-moving lyre,
Struck with a master's hand—struck like a God,

Or night-living Young, whose solemn harp
Sounded a requiem to the sheeted ghosts
Of pale Philander and of Narcissa fair;
Or that commanding Bard to whom the key
That opes the varying Seasons, Nature gave,—
Sweet Thomson—or e'en such as grac'd the lay
Of him whose Splendid Shilling, polish'd fair,
Appear'd more glittering than a one-pound-one.

Mortal attend.—What furious fatal form
Leans o'er yon chair, like some detested wretch
Sick of the sun!—See, see he grasps the blade,
And seems resolv'd to plunge it in his heart—
Awhile he stops—And is all lost, he cries,
In one deep ruin all my fortune whelm'd
By one dire blow?—Then what is life to me?
Hark, Justice calls—I hear her and obey;
Why this is well too—this is blow for blow;
He strkes, he faints, he falls, he groans, he dies.

And see another spectacle comes forth,
A female form, lean, languid, and decay'd.

Is that Clarissa? she whose vermeil cheek,
Flushing so late with all the paint of health,
Fresh as the gale of Heaven! Disastrous change,
Jaded and stript of fortune and her charms;
Behold her supplicating yonder Lord,
(Whom her ill luck enriched) for charity,
The charity of one poor hapless meal,—
Precarious boon!—the fretted victim droops,
And solitary pines her life away.

But that gay, gamesome fair one,—she whose hand
Pats the sleek face of yonder silken fool,
Yon emmet in embroidery.—Is it love
Whose shaft impierces thus? What mighty flame
Can make the female nature so unsex'd?
Asks thou what flame? the raging flame of play!
The last indulgence her fond husband gave;
—He—hapless man, sits in his lonely hut,
Trimming the frugal taper—is all flown:
Behold her sparkling creditor—kind soul

She taps his cheek, assents to all demands,
Sets virtue on a cast, and all is paid.

Good Heavens! what rustling rapid she is that,
Who with a restless air and hurried step,
Loaded with wealth, the winnings of a night,
Sweeps thro' the rooms, and cries out victory!
Still not content, the gaming fury goads;
More, more cries avarice—do not quit the board
Till all within this golden round be thine:
The nymph obeys—indignant fortune shifts,
And from the Cormorant turns her angry wheel,
The last sad guinea trembles in her hand;
To that the gorgeous watch, the costly toys,
Rings, jewels, trinkets, in confusion gay,
Seizes her lucky foe, and last of all
The picture of her Lord;—then home she hies,
Loses the haughty air, the conqueror's pride,
And like a guilty creature slinks to bed.

But soft at this departing witching hour,
Edging on midnight, who is that wild spark,

His hair dishevell'd, and his spurs in blood
Now entering on the game? with daring hand
He ventures various purses on a card;
The various purses, which so lightly came,
As lightly disappear. Stern Fortune frowns;
Enrag'd, th' adventurer starts and rushes forth,
He mounts his ready steed, swift scours the road,
And steals the fresh supply.—Justice pursues,
The game is up—the gallows ends the chace.

Perils innumerous as leaves which fall
From the decaying bough on Autumn's tide,
Abuse and use, and wretchedness and joy,
Alternate, mix'd, confounded, and convolv'd,
From Cards, those engines of amusement, flow.
From thence proceeds pale vigils, and dire dreams,
The bad big word, the bitten lip, torn nail,
The sullen look, the pout, and rude reply.
The raving blasphemy, the broken vow,
The little altercation, duel dire,
The sigh deep-searching, and the groan profound.

But turn the picture—see its fair reverse,
There view the happier History of Cards,
Thus in a lighter treasure glide along.
When the time hangs heavy on us,
Sol disdaining to shine on us,
When the wintry welkin lowers,
Or the rattling tempest pours,
When the chilly wind is blowing,
Or the drizzling wet is flowing,
What like Cards defy the weather,
Bringing neighbour friends together?
Fix them all behind the screen,
All around the verdent green,
Now good fortune sweet surprizing
Blithsome expectation rising,
Gentle hope and gentle fear,
But no baser passion near,
Soft suspense, while you are dealing,
I from you my luck concealing.
Here the conquering Heart to bring,
Which subdues your haughty King;

Now in Diamonds rich abounding,
Now your wily Knave confounding;
Then our Spades turn up the scene,
Then our Clubs knock down the Queen.
What like Cards when thus we play,
On a dark December day?
What like Cards the hand can show,
Or the arm of moving snow?
What can bid the brightness rise,
Or illume the female eyes?
What so well the cheek can flush,
Stir so quick the blooming blush?
What when Books and Booklings tire,
So can grace a friendly fire?
Whist and Commerce, Loo and Ombre,
Cheer away reflections sombre;
Then the harmless joy to view,
When I have better luck than you.
If to win the game I'm able,
Brisk I deal about the table;
When the conquering Card I hold,
Smart I throw it on the board;

Honours then you know are mine,
Yet my hand, my heart is thine;
What like Cards, when thus we play,
Help to pass dull life away?
Keep within this prudent bound,
And gayly let the deal go round.

This Poem, in its original form, opened with some Hudibrastic lines.

Phillips.