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: