"Trust then my art, that, in itself complete,
Needs no assistance and fears no defeat."
Warm'd by her well-spiced ale and aiding pipe,
The angry matron grew for contest ripe.
"Can you," she said, "ungrateful and unjust,
Before experience, ostentation trust!
What is your hazard, foolish daughters, tell?
If safe, you're certain; if secure, you're well:
That I have luck must friend and foe confess,
700