Porter who us'd to search for needful Girls,
Now sucks his Fingers, or his Apron twirls,
Bemoans his Loss of Business, and with Sighs,
In Box imprison'd lays the useless Dice.
Spring-Garden now alone does all invite
The Cit, the Wit, the Rake, the Fool, the Knight:
No Lady, that can pawn her Coat or Gown,
Will rest 'till she has laid the Money down:
Each Clerk will to the Joints his Fingers work,
And Counsellors find out some modern Querk,