A contract (duly stamped and ably made),
          Four thousand to secure, which he had got,
          On similar occasion for a blot;
          His lady’s father gave it to efface
          Domestick diff’rences and like disgrace: 
          With this my spouse’s fortune he increased;
          And instantly my dire complaining ceased. 
          From family to family the deed
          Should pass, ’twill often prove a useful meed;
          I kept it for the purpose:—­do the same
          Your daughter, married, may have equal blame. 
          On this the son-in-law the bond received,
          And, with a bow, departed much relieved.

May Heav’n preserve from trouble those who find,
At cheaper rate, to be consoled inclined.

The quid pro quo;
or
the mistakes

Dame fortune often loves a laugh to raise,
And, playing off her tricks and roguish ways,
Instead of giving us what we desire,
Mere quid pro quo permits us to acquire. 
I’ve found her gambols such from first to last,
And judge the future by experience past. 
Fair Cloris and myself felt mutual flame;
And, when a year had run, the sprightly dame
Prepared to grant me, if I may be plain,
Some slight concessions that would ease my pain. 
This was her aim; but whatsoe’er in view,
’Tis opportunity we should pursue;
The lover, who’s discreet, will moments seize;
And ev’ry effort then will tend to please.

          Oneeve I went this charming fair to see;
          The husband happened (luckily for me)
          To be abroad; but just as it was night
          The master came, not doubting all was right;
          No Cloris howsoe’er was in the way;
          A servant girl, of disposition gay,
          Well known to me, with pretty smiling face,
          ’Tis said, was led to take her lady’s place. 
          The mistress’ loss for once was thus repaid;
          The barter mutual:—­wife against the maid.

          Withmany tales like this the books abound;
          But able hands are necessary found,
          To place the incidents, arrange the whole,
          That nothing may be forced nor feel control. 
          The urchin blind, who sees enough to lay
          His num’rous snares, such tricks will often play. 
          The Cradle in Boccace excels the most,
          As to myself I do not mean to boast,
          But fear, a thousand places, spite of toil,
          By him made excellent, my labours spoil. 
          ’Tis time howe’er with preface to have done,
          And show, by some new turn, or piece of fun,
          (While easy numbers from my pencil flow,)
          Of Fortune and of Love the quid pro quo. 
          In proof, we’ll state what happened at Marseilles: 
          The story is so true, no doubt prevails.