A SATYR AGAINST WOOING: With a View of the Ill Consequences that attend it.

Written by the Author of The Satyr against Woman.

Si tibi simplicitas uxoria, deditus uni
Est animus, summitte caput, cervice parata
Ferre Jugum: nullam invenies quae pareat amanti.
Juv. Sat. 6.

LONDON, Printed in the Year, 1698.

TO Sir Fleetwood Sheppard, &c.

WHile the vain Fop his vainer Mistress sues,
Growing more slavish as he longer Woo's,
(For she but flies because the Sot pursues)
You, Sir, a safer, nobler way have ran,
For an ill Age a general Good began,
And shewn the ways of Liberty to Man.
Vnpitied let the Husband mourn his strife,
That Woo's, and Lies, and labours for a Wife.
Mean while to you our Praise we justly pay,
Whom Woman's utmost Art cou'd ne'er betray,
Or all her charms seduce to quit your Native Sway.
Learning and Prudence rais'd you safe, above
The snares of Wedlock, and the smiles of Love;
In their embrace a nobler Prize you sought,
And to their Empire lasting Conquests brought.
'Twas strange to be the Foe of Love so Young.
But stranger to retain the Bent so long.
Nor heat of Youth, nor yet your Elder Years
(For many a Man is fonder as he wears)
Cou'd ever plunge you in that Sea of Cares.
[Page] Constant to Peace, you still avoided strife,
The Rocks, the Shelves, and Quick-sands of a Wife,
That wak'ner of Despair, and scourge of Life!
'Twas not because you never saw the Flame;
In Crouds of Beauties you were still the same,
And, looking back, despis'd the following Game:
Thus, flying, you the beauteous Victors beat,
And Parthian like, secur'd the Conquest by Retreat:
Disarm'd of all their Darts, the Fantoms fled,
By your persisting Sense their Pow'r struck dead,
And Wit and Friendship govern'd in their stead.
Friendship! Heav'ns holiest Tye and Balm of Life!
And Wit! that never cou'd consist with strife.
How are we pleas'd at ev'ry word you speak!
How do we glow to see the Light'ning break!
Inevitable Mirth our Grief controuls,
Shines thrô the sullen Gloom, and warms our Souls!
Sadness it self does in thy Presenc [...] wear
A Pleasing look, and Poets lose their Care.
There's not a Soul can stir while thou dost stay!
To ev'ry Mind you Life and Light convey,
Just as where e'er the Sun arrives 'tis Day!
Why shou'd not Wit, a blessing so sublime.
As it from Love, secure thee too from Time?
It will not be!—the Body falls of Course;
But thy Immortal Name's above his Force.
R. G.


TRue Love (if yet there such a thing can be)
Is where two Persons mutually agree;
And marry next (to Root out all debate)
VVithout [...] thought of Portion, or Estate:
Then both alike, with cheerful Labour, strive
By Honesty and Industry to Live,
Alike contented, if they' re poor, or thrive.
Thus, living Happily and Dying late,
They scarce find Heav'n a more Exalted State.
But O! th' Arabian Phaenix is less rare
Than such a happy, such a wond'rous Pair!
Not in an Age a Mutual Couple shown;
And 'tis as certain that the Fault's our own.
We Sigh and Weep, with hopes and fears perplex
Our Selves, and Deify a faithless Sex.
[Page 2] As Butchers blow their Veal and taint their Ware,
Praise does to Woman what a stinking Breath does there.
Scarce has the Foppling Sixteen Summers Seen,
The Down scarce yet appearing on his Chin,
But he a Tingling in his Blood does find,
And thinks he's fit to propagate his Kind;
And were that all, he shou'd not have our blame,
Since every other Brute pursues the same:
Enjoy'd, at once they lose their Lust and Strife;
But he more thoughtless, pushes at a Wife,
And thinks Desire will only end with Life.
But e'er he can effect his mad Design,
And in th' unquiet Clam'rous Union joyn,
The two old Fathers, very gravely, meet
'T adjust the Young ones shaking of the Sheet:
Th' Hereditary Mannor House and Grounds
The Joynture, and in lieu Five thousand pounds.
What's this but just like Tradesmen bart'ting Ware?
Or cheating Jockeys in a Smith-field Fair,
An even Chop between the Horse and Mare?
The Match thus made up, (thoughtless of th' Event,)
The Noddy's next to get the Nymph's Consent
In order to't he Powders and Perfumes,
And, three long hours in Dressing spent; presumes
At last before the Idol to appear,
Bowing, as if the Deity were there:
Not more cou'd be the Rapture had she been
[Page 3] A bright, and just descended Cherubin.
But now the speaking Faculty does seize
The Ass, that breaks out smooth in Wo [...]ds like these.
Madam—What shall I suy? or how impart
In Language that may make you feel the smart,
The mighty Anguish of my bleeding Heart?
Wounded by You, nor able to endure
The raging Pain, I humbly Kneel for Cure.
O let thy looks thy future Love Declare;
As bright Aurora does a Day that's Fair.
Do not, Ah! do not, in a dismal Cloud
Of gloomy Scorn thy Smiling Mercy shroud.
But let those Eyes, that can the Sun controul,
Shine with Enliv'ning Warmth upon my Soul,
And an undone, despairing Lover save,
Whose [...]tmost Glory is to dye your Slave.
O Sot! that knows not Wedlock is a more
Incessant Toyl than tugging at the Ore,
The Joy of which he Dreams to stand possest
A Bed-fellow that ne'er will let him rest;
In fatal kindness draining of his Strength,
Or Curtain Lectures, fatal for their Length;
Knows all his secret Crimes, his Folly hears,
Lessens his Hopes, and does encrease his Fears,
And Studies how to Plague him forty Years.
Had not a blunt Address been much more fit?
And, at that Juncture, better shew'd his Wit?
[Page 4] Madam (tho' 'tis a Truth that's something 'bold)
We here are by our Parents bought and Sold:
Tho' they are [...], pray let not us be Mad,
But make the best of what will else be Bad:
They've yoak't us, let us go an equal Pace,
'Tis walking Hand in Hand that wins this Race.
Tho' yet of Love we may but little know,
If after Marriage we can Loving grow,
We shall be the first Pair that e'er did so.
But to return—the Fop's Oration 'ore
(To many a Meaner Drab addrest before)
He little thinks what Torment will succeed;
That he so soon shall be a Slave indeed:
That all the Joys and Innocence of Life
Fly their Invet'rate Opposite—a Wife:
That Friendship, Wine and Wit, like Truth to Sin,
All hurry out as Marriage enters in.
Well, but the Lady proud of the Applause,
Her Mouth into a squeamish Posture draws,
And cries, Ah Sir! y'ave learnt the Courtier's Art
To speak fine Words, but distant from your Heart:
These Compliments were better said before
Some Fairer Object; that cou'd charm you more.
O Madam! He Replies, you are unjust,
Can you inevitable Charms distrust?
With Eyes that Languish and with Conquer'd Hearts
[Page 5] We own your Pow'r, your Raptures Flames and Darts:
Charm more than You? O touch not that extreme!
What Goddess does her own Divinity Blaspheme?
Thus does the Coxcomb entertain the Fair;
Who, at the same time, is so pleas'd to hear,
That she fogets she is to be a Bride,
And loses all her Leach'ry in her Pride.
Impossible a Man shou'd keep up to
That warm Discourse in which he first did Woo:
It can't be always Angel, Love and Dear!
Celestial! Orient Eyes! and Matchless Fair!
Nor can the first Embrace, the warm Delight,
Find a like Repetition every Night:
These failing, Wedlock grows a thing accurst;
A VVife expects it still as 'twas at first.
Here sinks our Florid Fop—and in his Train,
To the same Snare, comes on the Rhiming Swain;
The Sot that Writes, and is an Ass by Rule,
The Caelia, Silvia, Chloris, Phillis Fool:
Song is his Meat, his Drink, his Mistress too,
For 'tis to shew his Wit that maks him Woo;
Tho' there are better ways that Gift to prove,
Than wasting time in Courtship, Noise and Love.
No new Collection can of Verse appear,
No Farce, no Comedy thro'all the year,
But you'l be sure to meet our Coxcomb there:
[Page 6] Proud to his senseless Songs to Print his Name,
And thinks his Whining, Love; and Scribling, Fame.
This bad, and yet that other Songster's worse,
Whose Madrigals flow only from his Purse,
So much for Making he at first bestows,
For Setting next the second Guinea goes;
The singing Master sharps another Spill;
Ah! Sir, he gargling cries,—That Note must kill!
At Midnight he for Serenade prepares,
As if (alike disturbing sickly Ears)
He must ring his Chimes when the Bells go theirs.
In vain this Cost and Toil; for still 'tis found
There's nearer ways to VVood than going round:
Some Brawny Groom, as thus the Fop hums on,
Cries Ough, and Mounts, and the Love-suit is done.
Thus to the Fool the Filly's ready broke,
The Clown her Pleasure, and the Fop her Cloak.
But granting that there were a Nymph so choice,
That lik't her Lover purely for his Voice;
Ev'n granting that, 'twill not be very long
E'er she'l like Something better than a Song.
A Common Singer on the Stage has there
VVhere Voice will do, th' Advantage of a Peer:
Or tho', by chance, his Lordship led the way,
VVhat one Fool has possest, all others may.
Next to this, Wooer we the Slave may place
With the sad watry Eyes, and Rusul Face,
That sighs out all his hours, and in the Groves,
Carves on the Beeches his unprosp'rous Loves.
Sot! only fit to make his Court to Trees,
That hopes a Cure, yet tells not his Disease.
If she appears he shakes, a Deathlike Pale
Sits on his Visage—but the mournful Tale
Some Friend, at last, to the lov'd Lady bears,
And with the tender Accents wounds her Ears:
She Melts, and now the Joy he wish't is come;
VVon without VVords, she's born in Triumph home—
Happy! if he wou'd still continue Dumb,
And pray the Pow'rs to take his Hearing too,
And save him from the Clamour to ensue.
If by his Cowardice this gets Success,
The Bully, you may Judge, expects no less:
Mad to enjoy, he ventures Life and Limb,
As if the Nymph were only made for him;
And Marriage were not binding, just, or good,
Unless he cut his way to it thro' Blood.
Thus the first hour we loving Fops commence,
Away goes Christianity and Sense.
A Father's Precepts lose their pious force,
For Counsel makes a hardn'd Blockhead worse.
Still he fights on, and the most Common Drab
He meets with, Courts with Duel and with Stab:
[Page 8] So that at last (from Justice fled for fear)
His Lot does with this double choice appear,
To starve abroad, or to be truss'd up here.
Vain Man! is this our Boast of being brave?
Is this the Prudence above Beasts we have?
They tear and gore, and will no Rival bear
In Rutting time,—our Rutt holds all the Year;
Condemn'd to Drudge in those unfathom'd Mines,
And fonder grow the swifter Life declines.
This brings me to the stale gray Fop in Years,
That daily at the Park and Play appears,
The Scandal and Disgrace of Silver Hairs:
The Ladies Hearts with Perfumes t' engage
Aping in vain the Youthful Lover's Rage,
For VVomen know too well the Wants of Sapless Age.
'Tis true, some Men t'a Vig'rous Age arrive,
But it is then too late to Woo and Wive.
Who'd shake the Sands when there's so few to run?
And clap on Leeches when the Blood is gone?
Yet e'en in Impotence they're still the same,
And hold the Cards tho' they can't play the Game;
When Nature does in Opposition strive,
And the last rak't up Ember's scarce alive.
With this weak Wretch we may the lean one joyn
Who (choosing Food that Steels him in the Chine)
Feeds for a Mistress like a fatting Swine
[Page 9] A Starv'ling just before of Meagre Face,
But he crams on and will be brought in case.
Wisely he lays his Fund for Pleasure in,
He need not fear the being drain'd again.
This Fop of all Fops Ladies most shou'd prize,
Light of their Steps, and Jewel of their Eyes!
Famous as Spouse that all the Gravy Sips,
And like Laborious Bees he lades his Hips;
Tho' he that Eats that way t' encrease his Gust,
Is but a Limbeck for a Woman's Lust.
But what can that Notorious Coxcomb say
That, for a Wife, dissolves his Fat away?
If he so pank't to strike a heat before,
The loss of Spirits will unbreath him more.
The first has some pretence for feeding high;
The more this wasts the less he'll satisfie:
Or with his Strength shou'd he not lose desire,
Yet weakness will not do what she'll require.
Fool! at her Lover's Corpulence to frown,
When she her Self so soon cou'd melt him down,
And all the Pleasure of the Change her own.
But to please her, tho' he was Horse-man's Weight
Full fifteen Stone, he brings himself to Eight;
And thinking this way to get more in Breath,
Gets a Consumption first, and next his Death:
Happier in that, how e'er, than longest Life,
With all his former Garbage and a Wife.
But the proud Lover now 'tis time to name,
He that beyond his Fortune takes his Aim;
Scorns with Two Thousand Pound the Country Girl,
And all less than the Daughter of an Earl:
There he Addresses, Masks and Balls are made,
But finds 'em all too little to perswade.
Slighting his Love, and Haughty as she's Fair,
What can the Coxcomb do but next Despair?
And where that is the Cause, we know th' Effect
Is Madness—Pride cou'd never bear Neglect.
Hanging, or Poys'ning he does now intend,
Nor does indeed deserve a better end.
In Quality what was there ever seen
Beside Rich Cloaths, and an affected Mein,
Expensive Living, and a Fame decay'd,
We might not find in any meaner Maid?
If a rich Consort was so much his Care,
Why must she be descended from a P—r?
The greatest Fortunes are not met with there:
Why rak't he not among the City Heirs?
Whence most of our Nobility have theirs;
And by the ill got Portions Spend-thrifts made,
Down to the same Degree their Line degrade,
From Trades-men sprung, and prentic'd to a Trade.
As mad as this is he to Learning Bred,
That thinks to gain a Mistress by his Head;
When any Block-head sooner shall prevail
That scorns that Aid, and courts her with his Tail.
[Page 11] What need of using all the Liberal Arts,
So well receiv'd with our own Natural Parts?
The Fools in Verse enough themselves expose,
Yet are exceeded by this Fool in Prose.
His Love's the very Bird-lime of his Brain,
And pulls some part away with every Strain.
Wou'd but my Lady's tawdry Woman show
The Billets sh' has receiv'd from Chaplain Beau;
(Who, with his fair Wig, and fine Cambrick Band,
Thinks all the Ladies are at his Command,)
Wou'd she, I say, but design to let you see
This Rhetorician in his Gaiety,
In all his Tropes and Figures, and the rest
Of those hard Terms in which his Passion's drest;
You'd swear a Woman by such Courtship won,
Wou'd not deny th' Address of a Baboon,
VVhose Chatt'ring she wou'd understand as soon.
Beyond her Knowledge all his Stile does run,
And if he wins her he's beyond his own;
More dull the deeper in her Books he gets,
That study where the wisest lose their VVits.
But now comes one who (disregarded here)
Flies to the Sea to quench his Passion there;
And does expect from the more faithful Main
A milder Fate than from her cold Disdain:
Farewel, he cries; when of my Death you hear,
In kindness let there fall one pitying Tear;
[Page 12] My Ghost will then to the Elizian. Grove
Fly pleas'd, else haunt you for neglected Love;
Away he goes; the VVinds, the Rocks, the Sand
Less cruel thinks than her he left at Land:
So far he's well:—but e'er his Travail ends,
To vex her, he his Patrimony spends.
In France, or Rome, at last his Heart he frees,
His Passion loses, and gets their Disease,
The main Commodity of either Nation,
Here a False, Faith, and there a Salivation.
Vain Fool! for such Relief so far to Roam!
He might as well have met that Cure at home:
Here Quacks in Surgery and Religion too
Abound, which elder Britain never knew;
Produc'd in ev'ry Corner of our Isle,
As Heat does Monsters from the slime of Nile.
Return'd, some second Fair does now delight;
Proud of the chance, to his old Mistress sight
He brings the New, and Marries then in Spight.
Exults, and Triumphs in his happy Fate:—
—A VVife, the Pox, and not a Groat Estate.
This Slave's attended by a Wretch as bad,
Who by his [...] of Pleasure is betray'd:
Wo [...] for Enjoyment only, and succeeds;
(For little Courtship that Intention needs)
And, [...] Mark is what all Coxcombs hit,
He from that Minute dates himself a Wit:
[Page 13] Glories that he the subtle Bait has took
Without the Fate of hanging on the Hook.
Not Dreaming, Ideot, tho' one Danger's o'er,
He yet is nearer Ruine than before.
For from Enjoyment she has took her Cue,
Does Kneel, and Pray, and Swoon, and Weep and (Wooe;)
Since y'ave the Jewel take the Casket too,
She cries, Ah! Can you throw her from your Arms
Whose only Crime was yielding to your Charms?
So Sweet you look't, so Passionately swore,
I lost my Breath and could resist no more!
If by such Words he's not prevail'd to stay,
Again she Kneels, again she Dies away.
Thus Night and Day his Privacies she'll haunt,
And make him swear anew to every Grant:
Plies him so hard he's forc'd at last to Yield,
For if he pities her h'has lost the Field.
Whose Drab a Man may Marry is unknown,
The fatal Proofs of that are daily shown;
But of all Whores I least should wed my own.
In this loose Train the Widower to behold,
Will scarce obtain Belief, when it is told:
By his good Fate; and Providence's Care
Free'd from the Yoke, who wou'd not now beware?
Sav'd from a Wrack and safely put on Shore,
A thinking Man wou'd trust the Rocks no more.
But Mariners, you'll say must go to Sea,
And there's for Wedlock more Necessity:
[Page 14] Posterity must last, and Bread be had—
And can't this be without my being Mad?
If Trades-men for the meer support of Life,
Willing to suffer Discontent and Strife,
Let (as their Consorts are cut off and Die)
Another Hydra's Head the Place supply,
What then? Must he that has a large Estate,
And Children too that for Advancement wait,
Adore and be at the same Amarous Pass
As when, at Twenty, he Commenc'd an Ass?
Bring a Step-Mother to his Elder Brood
(A sort of Creature always Poor and Lewd)
And, gratifying her, no Right preserve?
Her's have th' Estate, his former Children starve?
Whoring is bad, it's Consequences worse,
But such a Marriage is the heavier Curse.
But these not all, there's yet one Fool t'appear,
Strutting like a Lieutenant in the Rear:
The witty Fop, I mean, that Wooes in jest,
Conceives he's safe, and laughs at all the rest:
Courts all, and all alike; and who believes,
Born to be false, he certainly deceives.
No Marriage comes within his lewd Intent,
Yet talks as if he only Marriage meant.
A Thousand Oaths of Constancy does Swear,
And will be ever tampering with the Snate.
Playing with Love, but makes the Snake grow warm,
And there's a Time we can't avoid the Charm.
[Page 15] His Weakness, or Neglect he'll surely show,
That always will be parlying with the Foe.
Examine all the Annals ever writ,
You'll still find Woman was too hard for Wit.
As when on Ship-board (as the Tale does run)
The famous Monkey, playing with the Gun,
Upon, now under, and now in wou'd go;
And this so oft repeated by the Beau,
That off went Wisdom, and the Bullet too.
Or as a Moth that round the Taper plays,
Now here, now there it's Mealy Wings displays,
Till bold at length, mistaking Fire for Light,
He meets with Ruine where he sought Delight.
Just so our crafty Coxcomb round the edge
Of Wedlock wantons, till the slippery sedge
Upon the Bank gives way, and lets him in—
Laugh! Hymen laugh! And let the Satyr grin!
By this time I foresee Objections rise;
A thankless Task the bidding Fools be wise.
What Man, they'll say, can stand upon his Guard
For ever? Such a Watchfulness were hard.
Beside 'tis Nature's powerful Call; nor can
That Sex be seen without Desire by Man.
Not all our Courage, Wisdom, Pow'r, or Art,
Can bring Relief where Love has fixt his Dart.
Ev'n mighty Jove that cou'd the Lightning tame,
Melted himself before this Brighter Flame.
[Page 16] Look but on Woman (for w'are bid increase)
And what hard Heart wou'd have Coition cease?
Angels at first, then Man was form'd by Heaven,
And to 'em both Transcendent Graces giv'n:
The first created Pure to wing the Skies,
Where Beatifick Visions feed their Eyes.
The last, the Lord of this Creation made,
With such a Look as all the Creatures aw'd,
But in that Sex we Man and Angel find,
In one Compendium both their Graces joyn'd,
Of human half, half of Celestial kind.
In them both Heav'n and Earth at once Unite;
Fram'd fit for Love, and molded for Delight!
Delights that cannot! Shou'd not be exprest!—
O let us pause a while—and wish the rest!
Hold! hold I cry! Or else 'tis mortal War,
Stretch not your bold Hyperbole's too far:
Tho' all in Heav'ns design at first was good,
It must be with restriction understood.
Believe not we'd have Propagation cease,
But carry'd on with Innocence and Peace.
And Men of Sense exempted from the Rules
Of wedding Misery, and begetting Fools.
Paul's wishing all like him does make it plain
Those Men that please may single Life retain:
His Words no other Sense but this can bear,
Be free from Woman and y'are free from Care.
[Page 17] 'Tis true, we own they were by Nature meant,
A Blessing to us, form'd for our Content;
Made in Prosperity our Joys to share,
And in our Wants to mollifie our Care:
Not order'd to command us, but obey,
And are to follow, not to lead the way;
But we pervert that end, and, born to Rule,
Meanly degenerate into Slave and Fool;
Wast on their gawdy Trappings all our store,
Then fall down to the Idol and adore.
Hence to so vast a pitch her Pride does rise,
All that deny her Homage she'll despise:
Kind neither to Desert, or Wit, or VVealth;
But hugs the Fool where she can see her Self.
The Mirrour that returns her Image true,
VVhere, by Reflection, she may have a view
Of something always vain, and always new.
With empty Sound and outward Gesture won,
But bait the Hook with Fool the Work is done.
Fool is their Food, their only dear Delight,
Their daily longing, and their drudge at Night.
The Man of Sense (tho' Marriage he may hate)
Wou'd in his Line continue his Estate;
Ev'n he, too, if he wou'd successful prove,
Must Ape the Fool, and seem the thing they love:
Tho' h' has enjoy'd her he must still adore,
Tho' Master be as servile as before,
Or, chast as Ice, she'll Marry'd turn a Whore.
Well then, you'll say, why all this Discontent?
You do but rail at what you can't prevent.
'Twas never known but Fools were num'rous still,
Wedlock a Snare, and Wives perversly ill.
What Remedy can you to Man propose
That he may not by Love, or Marriage lose?
Cou'd that be done in Vain you wou'd not Write,
Nor Envy say 'twas Prejudice and Spite.
I answer, If Men will their Vice retain,
And, when Convicted, let their Follies Reign;
Ev'n Juvenal himself had writ in vain:
In vain as far as it relates to them
That will not mend, but not in vain to him.
For tho' we can't of Reformation boast
Our well meant Labours are not wholly lost,
Virtue rewards its self; and he that wou'd
Convert the Vitious, then confirms the Good.
But to come closer to you:—Wou'd we use
That Aid we have, and not our Wills abuse,
A Thousand ready helps before us stand,
Which the most stupid Idiot might command.
What Man is there that can't forbear to Cringe?
And hang his Hope upon that slender Hinge?
Who need protest a painted Drab's Divine,
VVhen she is daub'd more coursly then a Sign?
VVho need at VVomens Scorn or Coldness pine,
That may relieve himself with Friends and Wine.
[Page 19] VVho'd tear and rave, and think his Fortune ill
Because one won't, when there's so many will?
Why are Rich Presents squander'd every Day?
W' are not oblig'd to throw Estates away.
Why Swearing? and of Lies a num'rous Rout?
Virtue wou'd think as well of us without.
Superiour we; suppose we equal were,
Why all that Adoration? Standing bare?
Watching their Eyes? And placing (to our Cost)
That Heav'n in them by whom our Heav'n was lost?
May not all these, and num'rous Follies more
(Too shamefull here to mention) be forbore?
Convicted thus, ev'n you must give your Voice.
That all our Coxcombs Miseries are his Choice.
Then the Adventurer who wou'd happy be
In Wedlock, must these Precepts learn of me.
First, where he likes he must for Marriage sue,
Be true himself, and always think her so.
No Jealousy of Rivals must appear,
For she'll be false if you her falshood fear.
Nor while you Woo be still protesting Love;
Large Promisers the worst Performers prove.
Then, after Wedlock, ne'er be heard contend,
Happy! if you can make your Wife your Friend!
Devour her not at once; but so enjoy
As not to feed too sparingly, or Cloy.
By dext'rous Management, you still must shew
Her good results from her Delight in you.
[Page 20] Give her full freedom; too severe restraint
Estranges Love, and makes Affection faint.
Let her wear whet she will; your Happiness
Lies in your being easy, not her Dress.
No sullenness must in your looks be worn,
And all her Pets must patiently be born,
For y'are her Cuckold if y'are once her scorn.
If all this keeps her not to Virtue fast,
Conclude no Woman ever yet was Chast:
But if this Usage does her Soul encline
To Truth, she's happy, and her Joy is thine,
And only so the Marriage Knot's Divine:
For as it stands among the Vulgar Fry,
Or Gentry either, where there's Jealousy,
Jack Ketch,s Noose is far the Holier Tye.
All this is hard, you'l cry, extreamly hard!
And if such Doctrine met the World's regard,
The Trade of Lisences wou'd soon be marr'd.
Tis what one of Ten Thousand ne'er cou'd do.
—Faith, Sir, I am of your Opinion too.
'Tis therefore I'm so earnest with the Men,
Before they Noose to think—and think agen.
If with a Wife he Happiness wou'd see,
Just such a Creature must a Husband be:
Nay often too with all this Kindness shewn,
His Heir shall be her Bantling, not his own.
Thus, Sir, I've freely answer'd your request,
Marry, or Marry not, as like's you best.
But now tis time some Counsel to bestow
Upon Sir Passionate, the Am'rous Beau,
That he at need may scape a scowring too.
If in his Breast he finds the Poison strong,
H'has then this Comfort 'twill not Rack him long,
The warmer Love the sooner 'twill be cold,
For no extreme in Nature long can hold.
But if the Venom yet more dang'rous prove,
Take what I here prescribe—and laugh at Love.
First set before your Eyes as fair a Piece
As ever Ancient Rome produc'd, or Greece;
Brighter than Hellen that set Troy on Fire,
And chast as Infants that ne'er knew desire:
That Icy Virtue keeps the Lover warm,
(For nothing that's Immodest long can Charm)
Strip but this Puppet of it's Gay attire,
It's—Gauzes, Ribbons, Lace, Commode and Wire,
And tell me then what 'tis thou dost admire?
First 'tis her pretty Shoe that so prevails;
The charm can ne'erly in her Toes and Nails.
Her Leg, long, little, wretchedly compos'd,
Shall hinder what is worse to be disclos'd,
Only her Breasts there is no passing by,
Because made bare to Court th' admiring Eye:
These, when they Lace, up to their Chins they Buoy,
And in short heavings artfully employ:
[Page 22] There they look well; but when the Night is come
They'r down agen just even with the Bum.
Next, let her nat'ral Sett of Teeth be shown,
If she's not Thirty, for she then has none;
With eating Sweet-meats rotted from the Gum;
So that her Breath is not the best Perfume.
Her Face, indeed, we own were wond'rous fair,
If there a Head belong'd to't that had Hair.
Upon old Time you may a Forelock find,
But theirs are false, or brought round from behind.
Thus Woman, tho by Fools and Flatt'rers Fam'd,
Let her Defects from Head to Foot be nam'd,
Is the most vain unfinish't Peice that Nature ever Fram'd
This nice inspection of her Person done,
Let all her little Implements be shown:
Open her secret Boxes; Patches here
You'l hoarded find, her Paints and Washes there:
Loves artfull Lime twigs, where the chatt'ring Ape
Sits Perch'd, and han't the Judgment to Escape;
Pleas'd with his Station there the Buzzard sings,
But finds his Shackles when he'd use his Wings.
If in her Bed you e'er perceive her fast,
Mind how her Face is crusted o'er with Past,
Or nasty Oils us'd nightly to repair
Her Skin, quite spoil'd—with taking of the Air.
The scatter'd Pieces of her artfull Frame
(More than wou'd take up a whole Day to Name)
[Page 23] Lie strew'd around, and such a Prospect Yield,
As Spoils when Routed Armies leave the Field.
Hip-Cushions, Plumpers, Massy Pads for Stays—
And thousand other things, dispers'd a thousand ways.
So that the Fair (like Bone lace when 'tis wrought)
Can't altogether in one Piece be brought
(Her Toils in order and her Am'rous Gins)
Without five hundred Pound a Year in Pins.
A thoughtfull Creature must conclude from hence
The best of 'em not worth that vast Expence;
That the short snatches of Delight we court,
We pay so dear for that it palls the Sport.
Then, what a perfume where she comes is lent?
All over strew'd to hide her nat'ral scent.
So they that stink of Onions, if they eat
Garlick, twill make the fainter smell retreat;
But then a stronger scent supplies the Room:
And so she cures her Rankness by perfume.
Thus Wooing different we from hunting find
For there w'are pleas'd when Puss is in the Wind.
If o're the Fop his Passion yet prevails,
And he'l weigh Reason only in his Scales,
Neither to be perswaded, forc'd or sham'd,
But, proud of Bondage, scorns to be reclaim'd;
Let him Woo on—A little time will shew
He is an Ass, and all our Doctrine true.


UPON Information, That there is a design of Publishing of something upon this Subject, under the Name of the Author the Satyr against Woman, this is to acquaint the World, that the Author knows nothing of it, and thare will be no other than this Satyr writ by him upon this Subiect.

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