The Virginia Gazette

POET'S CORNER.

A CARD PARTY.

TRUCE to all wrangling, a truce to ill nature,
A truce to your wit, and a truce to my satire;
We begin a new game—see! the trump is a heart—
But, prithee, have patience, and be not so tart.
I hope the blind Goddess won't turn out a jade—
You lead off the King, and I give you a spade:
Though by dint of good playing you gain the odd trick
Yet the loss of the honours will sure make you sick.
I think that with you, Sir Charles Airy, the deal is—
I have not this winter seen Mrs. Cornely's!
The new fashion'd cards prevent mixing the packs—
I intend the next meeting to be at Almack's.
Pray, Sir, have you heard any news about town?
I fear at third hand the knave won't go down;
Mr. Wilkes in the city will make a fine rout—
Four cards and four honours are pretty near out.
A Diamond next—and, behold! 'tis the Queen;
For my hand the best card to night I have seen :—
But lo, without thinking, you pop out the ace,
Which, spite of my bragging, quite alters the case!
This new scene of Garrick's I long much to see :—
The cards are with you, Ma'am, but pray drink your tea
The dances so prightly, the dresses so fine—
I hope to be married; we only are nine!
For taste and for elegance Drury Lane house—
But mum—on this subject be still as a mouse;
Some judges have told me, at fam'd Covent Garden,
The masquerade scene is not there worth a farthing.
A secret I have—but 'tis under the rose;
A Lady we know, with a very long nose,
Is lately gone crazy—bit by a mad poet
You have play'd a wrong card, Sir—pray didn't you know it?
I just led a Club—what the deuce makes you laugh?
I'm almost in love with our friend Bickerstaff!
The Padlock so new is, the music so pretty
Let's finish the game, Ma'am, and after be witty.
My dear Lady Betty, I die for your flounce!
Do pray mind the cards, you've just made a renounce;
I betted five pounds, and 'tis horrid provoking
That my money I risk on your talent of joking!
I wish I were fairly got out of the cuffle;
You will sure win the game if I give but a shuffle—
'Tis just as I thought, and now all things are right;
My revenge I will take on you some other night.

[Exeunt omnes.]