“So did you strive, and, madam! with success;
I knew no being we could censure less!”
Is this too much? Alas! my peaceful Muse
Cannot with half their virulence abuse.
And hark! at other tables discord reigns,
With feign’d contempt for losses and for gains;
Passions awhile are bridled: then they rage,
In waspish youth, and in resentful age;
With scraps of insult - “Sir, when next you play,
Reflect whose money ’tis you throw away.