Sylvia's revenge, or, A satyr against man in answer to the Satyr against woman.

Sylvia's revenge, or, A satyr against man in answer to the Satyr against woman.

Table of contents

Title page

THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY: TO THOSE SNARLING CURRS THE CRITICKS.

§

A SATYR AGAINST MAN.

§

ADVERTISEMENT.

Books Printed, and are to be Sold by John Southby at the Harrow, in Corn-hill, London.

A SATYR AGAINST MAN.

[Page]

[Page]

THen must it thus, Ye Heavens for ever be,

Will no kind Fate our Sex from Censure free?

Must ill-bred Satyrs Chase us through the World,

And shall no Thunder at the Slaves be hurl'd?

Ye Gods! how long shall injur'd Virtue groan?

How long shall Innocence be trampl'd on?

Shall a bold Scribling-Fop whose Head contains,

A Thousand Maggots for One Dram of Brains,

In Doggrel Rime, and much more Doggrel Sence,

Vomit six Pen'worth of Impertinence;

Thrust it abroad, and in a Stile not Common,

Call it forsooth—A. Satyr Against Woman?

A pretty Title—sure the Book must sell,

Cries a Clapt-Spark, and likes it wondrous well,

[Page] Another Laughs, and Snuffling in the Nose,

E'gad (says he) the Subject's rarely chose;

A third,—but hold the Slaves I must Ingage,

Inspire me Juno with a Womans Rage,

A Rage like that, when you by Spyes were told,

How finely Jupiter intreagu'd with Gold;

Or when the shape of Bull and Swan put on,

To get some Mortal Maiden-head was gon:

Assist dear Goddess teach me how to write,

Inform my Satyr when, and where to bite,

That all the Race of lewd inconstant Men,

May curse the time they rous'd a Womans Pen,

'Tis done,—a glowing heat my Breast inspires,

Revenge inflames me, with its eager fires;

Oh were the Race of Mankind in my Power,

By all my Hopes, they should not live an hour,

By Heav'n Caligula, 'twas bravely done,

To wish all Necks in Rome were shrunk to one,

That at one blow they might receive their Fate.

Yet Caesar, You were moderate in your hate,

A part of Mankind, at your Rage would fall,

But mine, (would heav'n would grant it,) flyes at all.

Fear not my Muse the Monster to engage,

But slight the passes of a Scriblers Rage,

What tho' he struts in big affected Notes,

You know the Muses still wear Petticoates,

[Page] Those Darling Shees, their Sexes Cause will own,

Shall Angel-Woman, be by Man o'rethrown?

—Man, the ignoble-word of Tell-tale-fame,

My Paper blisters as I write the Name,

Man, must I than the hated Name rehearse,

Lord! how it stains my Ink and spoils my Verse,

Man by some angry God in passion hurl'd

Down, as a Plague to vex the Female World.

A Spirit of Air and Flame may be withstood,

But who can shun a Divel of flesh and blood?

Man! hold my Muse thy Epithets give o're,

A Nobler Task will soon employ thy Store.

Expose the Wretch in all his vicious Shapes,

Trace him through all disguises all Escapes.

For tho' his Vices are become his Trade,

Yet Vice will sometimes Act in Masquerade.

Let no fond pitty thy resentments Spare,

Let nought of Woman make the Lash forbare;

Let him be Fop, Pimp, Cully, Fool or Knave,

Lash till he fly for shelter to the Grave:

That undeluded Females may be shown,

What a choice Creature 'tis they dote upon.

Nature has scarce wrote Man upon his Chin;

But strait to Love the Stripling does begin.

Tho' what it is he understands no more,

Then Sailors did the Compass heretofore.

Whether the Play-house, Church, or Boarding-School,

Did with a Mistress furnish the young Fool,

[Page] We cannot tell—but one at last is found,

Whose Charms the Heart of young Philander wound

The Triffle humbly at her Feet he lay's,

And as the Way of Courtship now a-days:

Some Present—for a Bribe does slyly use,

So by a Gift—his want of Gifts excuse;

And that his Plots be more securely laid,

Hee gets an Intrest in the Chamber-maid:

But if from's Vows she turns her Scornful Eyes,

And with disdain his formal courtship flyes;

A Lunatick transform'd he then dispairs,

Looks wild, storms, rages, and devoutly swears,

That if his Sylvia sends another Frown,

Himself, himself, the Wretch himself will drown

Before th' arrival of the next days Sun,

And the next Tavern sees the Business done.

Follow my Muse, you may if not too Clamorous,

In a Red-sea of Clarret find Sr. Amorous.

Where powerful Love, yeilds to more powerful Wine,

And prompts his Fancy to some new Design:

His former Mistress like a Cast-off-suit,

Thrown by—another does his Heart recruit,

To whome oblidging Nature has been kind,

In all the Gifts of Body and of Mind,

Nor must her Fortune be forgot behind;

[Page] With her he uses all the little Arts,

Invented to surprize unguarded Hearts.

No Treats are wanting that may bribe her Sense,

And to her heart convey soft Love from thence.

To Balls and Plays she's Daily usher'd in,

Tell mee St. James's-park how oft' you've seen, Grove,

The Perjur'd wretch conduct her through the

And whisper Tales of his pretended Love.

How oft he kist her hand, and softly swore,

That she, and none but she he could adore,

When the same time he Ogl'd at a Whore.

His vigrou's Courtship overcomes the Fair,

She can no longer such brisk Sallyes bear.

With blushes which too well the heart discover,

The cred'lous Phillis, owns her self a Lover.

Which mighty secret when the Wretch has known,

Retires and all his Passion does disown.

Disown't said I?—Ah certainly he'd none;

And 'tis a part of his diversion made,

To tell the World how th' Fair One was betraid,

Your Thunder-Gods! to strike the Villain dead.

O could my Pen dart Lightning at the Slave,

A fate deserv'd his Perjuries should have:

But a Curst Impotence attends mee still,

And Men must for the Deed accept the Will;

[Page] But yet to show how far a Womans Passion,

Exceeds that modish Raillery now in fashion.

For once let cheated Ariadne Speak,

And if you any sence of Shame partake.

Know perjur'd Men, 'twill make your Hearts to ake

And will oblige our injur'd Sex to know it,

The Story's true no Matter who's the Poet.

When Thesius false by unexpected Theft,

Had Ariadne on black Naxos left,

By him and his kind Sex expos'd a Prey

To Wolves and Tygers milder Beasts than they,

Long her low Love and Natures servile Chain,

Her just, her pious Curses did restrain:

But when far off his Perjur'd Gally flyes,

And rising Mountains screen her following Eyes.

All Woman in her's banish't by dispair,

Leaving a brave a dreadful Angel there,

Thus did She all his treacherous Sex ingage,

And thus curst on, inspir'd with heav'nly Rage.

Fly Villian Monster, Traytor, if I can,

I'll call thee more than all, I'll call thee Man.

Man—Natures blush medly of lust and Blood,

All Man—degen'rate from thy native Mudd,

Pure sedement of Chaos, Divel all o're.

Thy self, thy self what need I call thee more;

Perjur'd and treach'rous, Monstrous, and ingrate,

[Page] Deadly's your Love, more deadly than your Hate.

Your charming Eyes are those which have betraid,

A tame, an easy, fond beleiving Maid.

Find mee one Wretch in all your hellish-bands,

Whose Tongue han't done more Murders than his Hands.

Crocadile are your tears, Sly silent lyes,

Hyaena's Voice, and Cockatrices Eyes.

Angels before you've cheated us and then,

The cloven-foot peeps out, and you'r all Divels ag'en.

When I my own weak Soul and Sex review,

I hate my self and them as much as You.

Why has black Destiny oblidged us thus,

To Dote upon a Mortal-Incubus,

Oh that I could on the tame fools prevail,

We'd Dye to make their viprous offspring fail.

T'would be but one curst Age before they fell,

And moulder'd back into their native Hell.

By heaven twas nobly wisht and bravely thought,

Were all our Sex with such intentions fraught.

Hell would not long the treacherous Vermine spare,

For slighted Love who can with patience bear?

And tho' our Spark was Perjur'd once before,

[Page] He'l tick with Hell for one false Promise more,

And a whole Race of feigned Vows run o're.

No Woman shall monopolise his Heart,

But every Female shall pretend a part.

Inconstancy the Practic'd Vice of th' Age,

Makes him all Women that he sees engage.

One Woman takes him with her charming Air,

This 'cause shee's Black, the other 'cause shee's Fair.

Now now he dyes for Sylvia's Charming Eyes,

Till Caelia's Singing, did his Soul surprize;

His triffling heart she for a while possest,

Till 'twas remov'd to Rosalinda's Breast:

She could not long of her new Treasure Boast,

The Skittish Thing soon took another Post.

Octavia next would the Gay Bubble claim,

But still for Daphn'e he'd a greater flame;

For her he languish't in soft fond desire,

Till Florimena set his Heart on fire.

A while indeed he revel'd in her Arms,

But soon was captiv'd with Almeria's Charms:

For full six hours she held her Aiery Lover,

Till Arrabella did new Charms discover:

Her welcome Guest she did not long enjoy,

But Lydia was presented with the Toy;

And tho' she'd Magick that might cause it's stay,

Yet Claristella becond it away:

In two hours time the inclination fled,

[Page] And Belvedira reigned in her stead,

As Mistriss long she had not bore Command,

But th' Scepter was resign'd to Flora's hand

False as the Wind, inconstant as the Weather,

It ran away from her the Lord knows whether.

His Love thus into various Channels cut,

Bold Lust flows in, as fast as Love ebbs out.

Lust, like a Feind his Soul does haunt and vex,

Lust, the Familiar Divel of the Sex;

All sence of Reputation once abhorring,

He list's himself a Proselyte for whoring.

Whoring—what pleasures does the sound afford?

Whoring that lovely fine delicious Word.

A Virtuous Woman's troubl'd with ill Nature,

But yet a Whor's a most obliging Creature:

With her he all his Broken Vows repeats,

With her he values no expence in Treats.

What ever her fond Appetite can crave,

Tis but to ask, and she as soon shall have.

The Park and Play-house see 'em still together,

And he's her Cully for all sorts of Weather;

And tho' some years before the Nothing fled,

Yet he'l be thought to have her Maiden-head.

A vicious constancy he now will own,

And is not weary of her Service grown;

While in her La, th' inchanted Cocks-comb roks,

She loveingly requites him with a P—

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But hold a while m' unwary head-strong Muse,

In taxing Men I my one Sex Accuse.

The Dart which at the other Sex was thrown,

Recoils with all its force upon our own:

And while the Cully I would fain explore,

In lively colours I display the Whore.

Like Sampson's Foxes tail to tail they'r ty'd,

And who the Loving couple would divide?

Yet this for Jilts must in excuse be said,

'Twas false base trech'rous Man that them betraid.

And if some Hellish Arts and Tricks they know,

To you kind Men they all their Knowledg ow,

They were not Divels till you made'em so.

From Fluxing or from private Hot-House come,

For our last mentioned Cully make some room.

Who tho' severely chastned for his Sins,

His much lov'd trade of Whoring soon begins.

So Flud-gates which have long stop't water-course,

When opened make it fly with greater force.

Not virtuous Ladies in his Lust he'd spare,

Did not their Frowns make the bold Wretch forbear.

His lust all manner of distinction Dam's,

'Twixt Country-nut-brown, or fine Court-Madams.

Ugly or handsome, fair, black, brown, or yellow,

Tall, short, fat, lean, he swears she's not her fellow.

[Page] Abroad he fastens upon all he meets,

The Sexes common Scare-crow in the Streets.

Where Widdows, Wives, and Maids, he boldly seizes,

Ones Breast, and t'others Hand he rudely squeezes.

But if he finds 'em civil or not right,

Dam 'em sayes he, they're Virtuous out of spite.

He roves not long, till some kind Jenny pass,

And she with him takes one refreshing Glass.

Some paultry Chink to tempt her he'l expose,

And she on him a swingeing Clap bestows.

Who in few days finding his old Guest come;

At some Quack-Doctors takes a private Room.

The Quacks those lewd Imposters of the Times,

Fam'd for their Pills, their Spirits, and their Rimes.

With promis'd hopes, expecting Fops betray,

And send them more Distemper'd thence away,

Gull'd of their Health, and cheated of their Pay.

Death throw the Town is scatter'd in their Bills,

And Execution swallow'd with their Pills.

'Twoud blast a modest Muse to'approach too near,

A Dire Infection stains the neighbouring Air.

Here draw the Veil and let the Wretches lie,

Cursing the effects of their base Leachery.

What Gaudy thing from China or Japan,

Is this appears?—it cannot sure be Man.

[Page] And yet it talks, and looks, and walks like one,

Of those we call the modish Sparks o'th Town.

Man's the least part about him that appears,

Sure he was got between some Taylors Shears.

Oh what a breadth, what mighty Port he bears;

A dozen Farms upon his back he wears.

Poynt de venee must now adorn his Knees;

Whose Ancestors wore nought but homely Frieze.

In a long Wigg must our Sr. Taudry strut;

Whose Father wore the old Geneva-cut.

Dressing himself till noon the Fop must be,

The Royal Soveraign's sooner rigg'd than he.

Each day he spends some hours before the Glass,

To make himself a most accomplisht Ass.

Studies new Smiles and Cringes when alone,

And practises abroad what there was done;

Pride is the Mistris he does hourly serve,

His ear is bor'd and he must never swerve:

Pride which to learn the Women but begin,

In Men is grown a most habitual Sin.

Along the Park methinks I see him pass,

With formal steps he traverses the Grass;

If any Ladyes Ey'es but tow'rd him move,

He thinks (Vain Fool) that they're with him in Love.

But if th' advance, and to him come but nigh,

He gives'em the kind Squint and passes by;

Indeed he does it most Judiciously.

[Page] Then Spanish Snush, to Modish Nose is put,

At which Perfumed Handkercheif's drawn out;

T'adjust some bold disorder in the Face,

And put the Chin-patch in its proper place.

Then hum's a Tune and passing through the Streets,

With his dear Freind the brisk Sr. Fopling meets;

With open Arms they'mbrace—Dear Jack how is't?

Wellcome from France, and then I think they Kist.

What news from Paris are the Ladies fine,

Shall we at Lockets Ordinary Dine.

What Novels, Songs, or Fashions hast brought over,

Are th' Ladyes Kind, I prithee Jack discover?

And thus does more Impertinence run threw,

Then ever Gossips at a Cristning Knew.

Nay—tis not all his Huffing shall excuse,

The Bully from the lash of angry Muse;

Bully how great i'th' Mouth the Accent sounds;

Bully who nothing breaths but Bl—d and W—nds?

Some Divel did sure on Nature act a Rape,

And his own likeness get in human shape;

More Oaths and Curses not the Damned Vent,

Than from the Bullyes Brimstone-Lungs are sent.

The Divel himself is all amaz'd to see,

A wretch more impiously bold then hee;

He for one daring Act was sent to Hell,

[Page] But th'others loud G—d D—me's who can tell?

Like Tom a'Bedlam he invades the Streets,

And Quarrels, Huffs, and Fights with all he meets.

But if that one whose valour scorns to stoop,

To Noise and Nonsence take the Villain up;

And satisfaction for th' Affront demand,

Sr. Fright-all lowers his Top-sail to your hand.

Your Pardon Sr. sayes he, I must request,

By G—I thought you'd understood a jest,

His Bilboe sheath'd he decently retires,

Tutor to young raw Fops and Country Squires.

Would you my Muse of Hell the Picture view,

And what Distracted Looks the Damned shew;

Go to some Gaming-Ordinary where,

Shamwell and Cheatly and such Rooks repair,

To sharp the Citty-Prigg or Country-Heir.

Oaths loud as Thunder shake the trembling room,

And pointed Curses sign each others Doom.

The Pox, the Plague, and all the Ills that fall,

On wretched Mortals on themselves they call;

While they by the uncertain chance of Dice,

Loose Mannours, Lands, and Lordships in a Trice.

And what Old Gripwel, Scores of years was getting,

Is lost at Hazard in an hours sitting:

The loss of Guineas proves the loss of sence,

For against Chance how can there be Defence.

[Page] Anger Dispair and Fury fill the Face;

And Passion justles Reason out of Place.

At last a Wretch with home the Furies dwell,

Is by a fatal thrust dismist to Hell.

T' inform old Nick, that all the rest agree,

Shortly to come and bear him Company.

The Keeping Spark should next have been expos'd,

But that's a Text has one great Poet pos'd,

A Satyr cannot fright him into shame,

Whose Presence damn'd the well-wrote Limberhamm.

I might have told what Arts and Tricks are laid,

T'insnare the virtuous young unthinking Maid.

What sly decoys are us'd t'intrap the Fair;

What trusty Pimp did in the Office share.

What rev'rend Bauds made use of to entice,

The Fair One's liking of that modish Vice:

How she at last is guided to his Arms;

Where Victor like he triumph's in her Charms.

How long she does the Airy Title hold;

And how her Joy's are scarce a Twlvemonth old,

Before kind Keeper takes another Miss;

But sad experience knows too much of this.

My Task were endless, I should never stop;

Were I oblidg'd t'expose each sort of Fop.

The rambling Fop from France but newly come,

[Page] That went out sound and brought Diseases home.

The Squeamish Fop so nice in all things grown,

Sr. Courtly has his fellow Fools in Town.

The Lazy Fop that lyes a Bed till Noon,

And wonders how he chanc'd to rise so soon:

The Fop which does to Business make pretence,

Yet never guilty known of too much Sense;

The Citty Fop that modish would appear,

And puts on Sword and Wigg at Temple-barr.

The cringing Fop that does to all Men bow;

The sharping Fop, that lives the Lord knows how.

The noisy Fop would talk a Man to Death,

The swearing Fop, that lives on perjur'd Breath:

But hold—I might as well attempt to show,

What various Weeds on Banks of Nilus grow:

What sort of Monsters Affrick Desarts bear,

As tell how many sorts of Fops there are;

We need not long be puzl'd how to call Men,

For Fop is grown a common Name for all Men.

Forgetful Muse, that'mongst the Slaves that vex,

And daily torture our too harmless Sex,

You should forget that hateful Plague of Life,

Husband, the constant Jaylor of a Wife;

Husband—the curst alotment of our Fate,

Husband the thing, that of all things we hate;

Fops plague us but by turns, and then they've done,

But Husband's Plagues are ever but begun;

[Page] And tho' each Day we wish the Slav'ry done,

We find our Chains as constant as the Sun.

If Jealousy, that Maggot of the Pate,

Possess the Sot, how violent is his Hate?

What curst Suspitions haunt his tortur'd Mind,

And make him look, for what he would not find?

To'th' Looking-Glass he dares not cast an Eye,

For fear he should his-fine-brow antlers Spy.

Nothing but Females must i'th' house appear,

And not a Dog or Cat that's Male be there:

Nay least th'unhappy Wife should have her Longings,

He cuts out all the Men i'th' Tapstry-Hangings.

If but a harmless Letter to her's sent,

He'll make it own worse Sense than e're it meant,

And e're the Letter from his hands be cast,

He'll make it speak some deadly Crime at last.

In a curst Garret cloyster'd up for Life,

Lives Female-Innocence miscal'd a Wife.

Deny'd those Pleasures are to Virtue granted,

Yet by the Divel of a Husband haunted:

For a Release, she cannot hope nor pray,

Till milder Death take him, or her away:

If her she's happy—and if him she's blest;

Till to her Arms she take a second Guest:

But where's a Woman of all Sense so void?

Won't shun—

[Page] That Gulph wherein she'd like t've been destroy'd.

If Beauty, Wit, or Complaisance could do?

Her's Woman that can all these Wonders shew;

Beauty that might new Fire to Hermits lend;

And Wit which serves that Beauty to defend.

When courted she did Wonders with her Charms,

Till Parson conjur'd her to Husband Arms.

And tho' the same Perfections still remain;

Yet nothing now can the Dull Creature gain:

No looks can win him, nor no smiles invite;

The Wretch does her, and her Endearments slight;

And leaves those Graces which he should adore,

To Dote upon some ugly Suburb-Whore;

While poor neglected Spouse remains at home,

With Discontent and Sorrow overcome.

No Prayers nor Tears, nor all the Vertuous Arts,

Which Women use to tame Rebellious Hearts:

Can the Incorrigible Husband move,

And make him own his once so promis'd Love.

Consider! Lord! 'twill make his head grow giddy,

He says he is not yet for Bedlam ready:

But the next time that you thro' Ludgate pass,

Through Grates you'l see the loving Spend-All's Face:

And 'twil some Pleasure be the Wretch to veiw,

Ang'ing for single Money in a Shoe.

[Page]

Tell me you grave Disputers of the Schools,

You Learned Cocks-combs, and you well-read Fools:

You that have told us Man must be our Head;

And made Dame Nature Pimp to what you've say'd.

Tell me when Husband drench't in Clarret reels,

And slips by th'Motion of his treach'rous Heels.

That Head he has we all confess and own,

But what's the Head, when once the Sense is gon?

Oh! she's a happy, too too happy Bride,

That has a Husband Snoring by her side:

Belching out Fumes of undigested Wine,

And lyes all Night like a good natur'd Swine:

Whose Snoring serves for Musick to her Ears;

And keeps true Consort with her silent Tears:

That can himself no more than Chaos move,

And still neglects the great Affair of Love.

She may indeed assume the Name of Wife,

But others know she's but a Nurse for Life.

A Drunken Husband may pretend good Nature:

But here's a Sullen Matrimonial-Creature;

Will, and will not, will ask, and will deny;

Is pevish, Cross, and cannot tell for why.

Not one kind look he will to Spouse afford,

[Page] Not one kind Smile, perhaps not one kind Word.

All the oblidging Arts that she can use,

To reconcile this angry pevish Spouse;

Avail no more, than if she took delight,

In washing Bricks, or swarthy Negro's white.

Lyons and Tygers Men have learn't to tame,

Retaining nothing frightful but their Name:

With low submission have their Keepers own'd,

And trembled when their Masters have but frownd:

But Man, unruly Man, that Beast of Reason,

'Gainst Woman still continues in his Treason:

No Charms his damn'd ill-nature can release,

Satan, must only Satan Disposess.

Are these ye Gods, the Sov'raigns we must own?

Must we before these golden Calves bow down?

Forgive us Heaven if we renounce the Elves,

We'll make a Common-Wealth among our selves:

Where by the Laws, that we shall then Ordain,

We'll make it Capital to mention Man.

Man we'll, for ever banish from our sight,

Not talk by day, nor think of'em by night:

We'll shun their Courtship as we'd do the Plague,

And loath 'em more, than they a toothless-Hagg:

'Tis not their Sighs, their, Cringeing nor their Prayers,

[Page] Their supple Whinings, nor their treach'rous Tears:

That shall one kind Return for ever gain;

But when t'oblidge us they've don all they can.

We'l laugh, deride, and scorn the Fopish Sex;

And wrack Invention for new Way's to vex.

Till they to shun us prompted by Dispair;

Or Drown themselves, or Hang in cleanly Air.

Thus when to Hell by Shoals the Men are hurl'd,

Women will Reign as Monarchs of the World.

But if amongst us there should chance to be,

One silly fond regardless foolish She:

That spight of all our Edicts will maintain,

A League with that detested Creature Man:

Good Councel first shall strive to bring her off;

But if the Fool will that good method Scoff;

We'll try what next our heavy Threatnings do;

But her Curst Treasons, if she still pursue.

If she the freedom of her Sex will leave,

And love a Wretch she knows that will Deceive?

From pitty we'll exempt the Female Sot;

That wretched thing, a Husband be her Lot.

Jealous by Day, and Impotent by Night;

Have neither Shape nor Mein to please the sight.

Deseas'd in Body and Deform'd in Soul,

Conceited, Proud, yet all the while a Fool.

Poor to a Proverb, Lazy, yet as Poor,

[Page] And still want Credit for to run on Score.

May she with him spin out a tedious Life;

Blest with that much admir'd Title Wife.

And may no Female better Fate partake,

That dares profane, the wholesom Laws we make.

FINIS.

§

[Page]

[Page] SYLVIA'S REVENGE, OR; A SATYR AGAINST MAN; IN ANSWER TO THE Satyr AGAINST Woman.

Printed By AUTHORITY.

LONDON, Printed by Joseph Streater, at the Globe near Paul's-Wharf in Thames-street, and are to be Sold by John Southby, at the Harrow in Cornhil, and most other Book-Sellers. MDCLXXXVIII.

THE EPISTLE DEDICATORY: TO THOSE SNARLING CURRS THE CRITICKS.

[Page]

[Page]

ANd why all this Noise and Splutter against the Women, Harmless Creatures! what have they done to deserve so many Lampoons, Libels, Satyrs? but methinks Gentlemen 'tis not fair Dealing, to commit Acts of open Hostility before you Proclaim a Warr. And we know what Feats you brag have been done, by your little Fire-ship call'd The Satyr against Woman: This Preface therefore is only to let you know, that we have rigg'd out a Female Man of War (if that been't Nonsence) with 30 Guns of a side, which Egad Gentlemen, (as Mr. Bays has it) wee hope will maul you, and so much for that Point.

[Page] But Now—what now? why it seems 'twas Nero, and not Caligula, that made such a Wish mentioned in Page 2d. why Gentlemen I hope you'l excuse the want of Learning in a Woman; since upon my word I never read Suetonius nor Tranquillus, for you all know; That a Box of Marmalade, Culpeppers Midwifery, a Prayer-Book, and two or three Plays, is all the Furniture of a Womans Study.

If any of the Characters suite with some Persons to me unknown? I sollemnly profess, there is not one of them level'd against any person whatsoever, but a Skilful Painter, may by the strength of Fancy, draw a Face representing somebody, tho' no body sat for the Pictrue.

§

[Page]

Madam.

TH' Invasion first with feirce Assaults began,

And scatter'd wild Disorder as it ran,

It was a Warr betwixt our Sex and Man.

With haughty Pride the bold Tryumphers boast,

And Cry the weaker Vessel's sunk and lost;

Trophies along the gaudy Strand display'd,

And never such Insulting Peans made.

Yet true it is, without a blush we own,

Our Force in part was scatter'd and o'rethrown:

With fright Surpris'd we knew not then the Foe,

With Noise they hurry'd on, and flash't with show.

Yet still unmov'd our Body did remain,

They only took some Straglers on the Plain.

To you the News with winged-hast we bore,

You Smil'd, and bid us stand, and said no more.

Long you delay'd indeed to aid us there,

And they mistook your Scorn of them, for fear.

You sent one Muse to View their Strength, she came,

And told you 'twas but Noise and babling Fame.

Unguarded and how loose the Forces lay,

And would you then advance you'd win the Day.

With this alarm'd your God-like-Genius rose,

Lord! how agast appear'd your frighted Foes?

At your approach, foil'd and disarm'd they yield,

And scatter strange Confusion o're the Field.

With Numbers sweetly rank't you brought us aid,

And shew you can defend us and invade:

Submissive at your Feet their General Craves,

And you at Pleasure wound the baffl'd Slaves.

§

ADVERTISEMENT.

[Page]

GLAUBER'S WORKS Compleat, Translated out of the Latin and German Tongues, by the extraordinary Labour, and great Charge of CHRISTOPHER PACK Chymist, is now Printing in English in an Entire Volume in Folio, which is supposed will be near three Hundred Sheets of Paper, with divers Copper Cutts Curiously Engraven; adapted and incerted to their Proper Subjects.

Whomsoever are willing to Subscribe to the Proceeding in so Excellent and Necessary a Work, are desired to Repair to the House of the Said CRISTOPHER PACK, at the Globe in the Postern near More-Gate, where they may be furnished with Proposals, for Carrying on the same; in which there is a brief Collection, of some of the Surprising Subjects, tho' not a Tithe of what it Contains, it being necessary for all manner of Persons, out of which they may Collect somthingmore benificial in their own Employments by far, than the Price of the Whole.

Books Printed, and are to be Sold by John Southby at the Harrow, in Corn-hill, London.

The Marrow of Astrology, in two Books, wherein is contained the Natures of the Signes and Planets, also a Table of Houses, with all other Necessaries, requisite for the Rectifying and Directing Nativities; unto which in this second Edition, is added an Appendix, and several Examplary Additions; by John Bishop, Philomath. 4to.

The Benefit of Early Piety, recomended to all young Persons, and particularly to those of the City of London. The second Edition, Part I. By W. Smythies. Duod.

A Short View of the Duty of Receiving the SACRAMENT. Fit to be Read in the Time of Preparation. With Additions of several Prayers, necessary to be used, before and after Communion. The second Edition. 24s.

Information about this book

Title statement

Sylvia's revenge, or, A satyr against man in answer to the Satyr against woman.

Ames, Richard, d. 1693.

Edition statement

1688

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI ; Oxford (UK) :

Date

2005-12 (EEBO-TCP Phase 1).

ID [DLPS]

A69455

ID [STC]

Wing A2992D

ID [STC]

ESTC R22334

ID [EEBO-CITATION]

12488185

ID [OCLC]

ocm 12488185

ID [VID]

62311

Availability

This keyboarded and encoded edition of the work described above is co-owned by the institutions providing financial support to the Early English Books Online Text Creation Partnership. This Phase I text is available for reuse, according to the terms of Creative Commons 0 1.0 Universal. The text can be copied, modified, distributed and performed, even for commercial purposes, all without asking permission.

Series

Early English books online.

Notes

(EEBO-TCP ; phase 1, no. A69455)

Transcribed from: (Early English Books Online ; image set 62311)

Images scanned from microfilm: (Early English books, 1641-1700 ; 298:26 or 1663:4)

Source

— Sylvia's revenge, or, A satyr against man in answer to the Satyr against woman., Ames, Richard, d. 1693..

Extent

[6], 22, [1] p.

Printed by Joseph Streater ... and are to be sold by John Southby ... and most other booksellers ...,. London :: 1688.. (In verse.) ("Printed by authority.") (Attributed to Richard Ames. Cf. BM; Cambridge bib. of English lit.) (First ed. Cf. BM.) (In answer to Robert Gould's Love given o're, or, A satyr against ... woman.) (Item at reel 298:26 has advertisement: p. [1] at end.) (Item at reel 298:26 identified as Wing S6335 (number cancelled).) (Reproduction of originals in the British Library and the Harvard University Library.)

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