Thus, like an arrant woman as I am,
No fooner well convinc'd writing 's à fhame,
That Whore is fcarce a more reproachful name
Than Poctefs------
Like men that marry, or like maids that woo,
Because 'tis th' very worst thing they can do:
Pleas'd with the contradiction and the fin,
Methinks I ftand on thorns till I begin.
Y' expect to hear, at leaft, what love has paft
In this lewd town, fince you and I saw last ;
What change has happen'd of intrigues, and whether The old ones laft, and who and who's together.
But how, my dearest Cloe, fhould I fet
My pen to write what I would fain forget!
Or name that loft thing Love, without a tear,
Since fo debauch'd by ill-bred cuftoms here!
Love, the most generous paffion of the mind,
The softeft refuge innocence can find;
The fafe director of unguided youth,
Fraught with kind wishes, and fecur'd by truth;
That cordial-drop heaven in our cup has thrown,
To make the naufeous draught of life go down ;
On which one only bleffing God might raife,
In lands of Atheists, fubfidies of praife :
For none did e'er fo dull and ftupid prove,
But felt a God, and blefs'd his power, in love:
This only joy, for which poor we are made,
Is grown, like play, to be an arrant trade :
The rooks creep in, and it has got of late
As many little cheats and tricks as that;
X 2
command in verie I write : me ride aftride and fight :
i mea: ak mer of wit,
mals & for fact before they wil)
Tha."Terture": TCT the bars.
SCHONIE KIEL, returns of praile;
that formy nathiel world explore, merve cad c back, and wreck'd on the dull fhore, that little frock, they had before!
a woman < tottering barque be tof.
the men of wit' are ion!
en this, I fhaight grow wife,
wen Auf 1 grarely thus advite :
his many manfions, have a care.
poets a fhare;
diverts you, makes the reader fad ;
vour infor', he thinks you mad.
mietnus the fiddle of the town.
:-humann's pleasure : their need:
sher you tail, and icorn'è wher, vor fucceed.
Thus, like an arrant woman as I am,
No fooner well convinc'd writing 's à fhame,
That Whore is fcarce a more reproachful name
Than Poctefs------
Like men that marry, or like maids that woo,
Because 'tis th' very worst thing they can do:
Pleas'd with the contradiction and the fin,
Methinks I ftand on thorns till I begin.
Y' expect to hear, at leaft, what love has paft In this lewd town, fince you and I faw laft; What change has happen'd of intrigues, and whether The old ones laft, and who and who's together.
But how, my dearest Cloe, fhould I fet
My pen to write what I would fain forget!
Or name that loft thing Love, without a tear,
Since fo debauch'd by ill-bred customs here?
Love, the most generous paffion of the mind,
The fofteft refuge innocence can find;
The fafe director of unguided youth,
Fraught with kind wishes, and fecur'd by truth;
That cordial-drop heaven in our cup has thrown,
To make the naufeous draught of life go down;
On which one only bleffing God might raise,
In lands of Atheists, fubfidies of praife:
For none did e'er fo dull and ftupid prove,
But felt a God, and blefs'd his power, in love:
This only joy, for which poor we are made,
Is grown, like play, to be an arrant trade :
The rooks creep in, and it has got of late
As many little cheats and tricks as that;
X 2
But, what yet more a woman's heart would vex,
'Tis chiefly carry'd on by our own sex ;
Our filly fex, who born, like monarchs, free,
Turn Gipfies for a meaner liberty,
And hate reftraint, though but from infamy
That call whatever is not common nice,
And, deaf to Nature's rule, or Love's advice,
Forfake the pleasure, to pursue the vice.
To an exact perfection they have brought
The action Love, the paffion is forgot.
'Tis below wit, they tell you, to admire,
And ev❜n without approving they defirc:
Their private with obeys the public voice,
'Twixt good and bad whimfy decides, not choice :
Fashions grow up for taste, at forms they strike,
They know what they would have, not what they like.
Bovy's a beauty, if some few agree
To call him fo, the reft to that degree
Affected are, that with their cars they fee.
Where I was vifiting the other night,
Comes a fine lady, with her humble knight,
Who had prevail'd with her, through her own skill,
At his request, though much against his will,
To come to London------
As the coach ftopt, I heard her voice, more loud
Than a great-belly'd woman's in a croud;
Telling the knight, that her affairs require
He, for fome hours, obfequiously retire.
I think fhe was afham'd he should be feen
Hard fate of husbands! the gallant had been,
Though a difeas'd, ill-fayour'd fool, brought in.
Difpatch, fays the, the bufinefs you pretend,
Your beaftly vifit to your drunken friend,
A bottle ever makes you look fo fine;
Methinks I long to fmell you stink of wine.
Your country drinking breath 's enough to kill
Sour ale corrected with a lemon-peel.
Pr'ythee, farewel; we'll meet again anon :
The neceffary thing bows, and is gone.
She flies up ftairs, and all the hafte does fhow
That fifty antic poftures will allow;
And then bursts out----Dear madam, am not I
The ftrangeft, alter'd, creature: let me die,
I find myself ridiculously grown,
Embarraft with my being out of town:
Rude and untaught, like any Indian queen,
My country nakedness is plainly feen.
How is Love govern'd? Love that rules the state;
And pray who are the men moft worn of late?
When I was marry'd, fools were à-la-mode,
The men of wit were then held incommode :
Slow of belief, and fickle in defire,
Who, ere they'll be perfuaded, must enquire,
As if they came to spy, and not t' admire :
With fearching wifdom, fatal to their ease,
They ftill find out why what may should not please;
Nay, take themselves for injur'd, when we dare
Make them think better of us than we are ;
And if we hide our frailties from their fights,
Call us deceitful jilts and hypocrites;
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