Should be one continued play-day—­
Balls, and masquerades, and shows,
Visits, plays, and powder’d beaux. 
  Thus you have my case at large,
And may now perform your charge. 
Those materials I have furnish’d,
When by you refined and burnish’d,
Must, that all the world may know ’em,
Be reduced into a poem. 
  But, I beg, suspend a while
That same paltry, burlesque style;
Drop for once your constant rule,
Turning all to ridicule;
Teaching others how to ape you;
Court nor parliament can ’scape you;
Treat the public and your friends
Both alike, while neither mends. 
  Sing my praise in strain sublime: 
Treat me not with dogg’rel rhyme. 
’Tis but just, you should produce,
With each fault, each fault’s excuse;
Not to publish every trifle,
And my few perfections stifle. 
With some gifts at least endow me,
Which my very foes allow me. 
Am I spiteful, proud, unjust? 
Did I ever break my trust? 
Which of all our modern dames
Censures less, or less defames? 
In good manners am I faulty? 
Can you call me rude or haughty? 
Did I e’er my mite withhold
From the impotent and old? 
When did ever I omit
Due regard for men of wit? 
When have I esteem express’d
For a coxcomb gaily dress’d? 
Do I, like the female tribe,
Think it wit to fleer and gibe? 
Who with less designing ends
Kindlier entertains her friends;
With good words and countenance sprightly,
Strives to treat them more politely? 
  Think not cards my chief diversion: 
’Tis a wrong, unjust aspersion: 
Never knew I any good in ’em,
But to dose my head like laudanum. 
We, by play, as men, by drinking,
Pass our nights to drive out thinking. 
From my ailments give me leisure,
I shall read and think with pleasure;
Conversation learn to relish,
And with books my mind embellish. 
  Now, methinks, I hear you cry,
Mr. Dean, you must reply. 
  Madam, I allow ’tis true: 
All these praises are your due. 
You, like some acute philosopher,
Every fault have drawn a gloss over;[1]
Placing in the strongest light
All your virtues to my sight. 
  Though you lead a blameless life,
Are an humble prudent wife,
Answer all domestic ends: 
What is this to us your friends? 
Though your children by a nod
Stand in awe without a rod;
Though, by your obliging sway,
Servants love you, and obey;
Though you treat us with a smile;
Clear your looks, and smooth your style;
Load our plates from every dish;
This is not the thing we wish. 
Colonel ***** may be your debtor;
We expect employment better. 
You must learn, if you would gain us,
With good sense to entertain us. 
  Scholars, when good sense describing,
Call it tasting and imbibing;
Metaphoric meat and drink
Is to understand and think;
We may carve for others thus;