Just as the loungers in the shops in town;
Till fancying nothing would their minds amuse,
They’d push them by, and go in search of news. 
   But our attractions are a stronger sort,
The earliest dainties and the oldest port;
All enter then with glee in every look,
And not a member thinks about a book. 
   Still, let me own, there are some vacant hours,
When minds might work, and men exert their powers: 
Ere wine to folly spurs the giddy guest,
But gives to wit its vigour and its zest;
Then might we reason, might in turn display
Our several talents, and be wisely gay;
We might—­but who a tame discourse regards,
When Whist is named, and we behold the Cards? 
   We from that time are neither grave nor gay;
Our thought, our care, our business is to play: 
Fix’d on these spots and figures, each attends
Much to his partners, nothing to his friends. 
   Our public cares, the long, the warm debate,
That kept our patriots from their beds so late;
War, peace, invasion, all we hope or dread,
Vanish like dreams when men forsake their bed;
And groaning nations and contending kings
Are all forgotten for these painted things;
Paper and paste, vile figures and poor spots,
Level all minds, philosophers and sots;
And give an equal spirit, pause, and force,
Join’d with peculiar diction, to discourse: 
“Who deals?—­you led—­we’re three by cards—­had you
Honour in hand?”—­“Upon my honour, two.” 
Hour after hour, men thus contending sit,
Grave without sense, and pointed without wit. 
   Thus it appears these envied Clubs possess
No certain means of social happiness;
Yet there’s a good that flows from scenes like these —
Man meets with man at leisure and at ease;
We to our neighbours and our equals come,
And rub off pride that man. contracts at home;
For there, admitted master, he is prone
To claim attention and to talk alone: 
But here he meets with neither son nor spouse;
No humble cousin to his bidding bows;
To his raised voice his neighbours’ voices rise,
To his high look as lofty look replies;
When much he speaks, he finds that ears are closed,
And certain signs inform him when he’s prosed;
Here all the value of a listener know,
And claim, in turn, the favour they bestow. 
   No pleasure gives the speech, when all would speak,
And all in vain a civil hearer seek. 
To chance alone we owe the free discourse,
In vain you purpose what you cannot force;
’Tis when the favourite themes unbidden spring,
That fancy soars with such unwearied wing;
Then may you call in aid the moderate glass,
But let it slowly and unprompted pass;
So shall there all things for the end unite,
And give that hour of rational delight. 
   Men to their Clubs repair, themselves to please,
To care for nothing, and to take their ease;
In fact, for play, for wine, for news they come: