The Origin of the whale bone-petticoat. A satyr. : Boston, August 2d. 1714.

The Origin of the whale bone-petticoat. A satyr. : Boston, August 2d. 1714.

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THE ORIGIN OF THE Whale bone-petticoat. A SATYR.

Boston, August 2d. 1714.

RIse gentle Satyr,

In modest l [...]nes the Mystery reveal,

Speak b [...]ld [...]y speak, for thou [...]

Tell us from whence we had this [...],

[...] [...]oop [...] in almost all the Nation.

The [...] Tribe I mean, who walk in Hutts,

[...] Whale-bone-petticoats.

[...]e [...]sh [...] be keen but not severe,

[...] the wand'ring Fa [...]r

[...] Whale-bone- [...]eer.

[...], p [...], [...]eluded [...],

Her Wh [...]l [...]-bone-petticoat's Original.

[Page]Then I am sure (if Innocence preva [...]

They'll all di [...]lo [...]ge, to vindicate the [...]

But hold! cries Madam Alamode-d [...]

Your kind, s [...]rical Impertinence;

You M. Satyrist, who know so well

To trace our Petticoat' [...] Original.

Forbear, forbear; retreat betimes and know

Your Strength's too weak to meet the potent Foe,

Did we not valiantly maintain the Fight

'Gainst mighty Bic [...]erstaff [...]s immo [...]t [...]l W [...]?

We did, we did, we bravely kept the Field;

His Wit and conqu'ring Reason both did yield

T [...] our triumphant Folly.

Q [...]t then your A [...]ms, retreat and sue for Peace,

Wage war no longer with our Darling-dress;

For 'tis in vain.

Ev'n I my self wou'd bug my Winding-shrowd,

Meet it with Joy;

Rather by far than not be Alamode.

Therefore,

Not all your Rhetoric, nor all your Lyes

Shall overthrow what Custom ratifies.

I tell you Sir,

Shou'd Custom mould it into T [...]leration,

I'd walk upon my Head [...] 'twas the Fashion.

Gently good Lady!— Walk up [...] your Feet.

I know your Strength and therefore will retreat.

But yet one Random-shot before we part,

I'll throw at this same Darling of your Heart:

These Gew-gaw Fashions and fantastic Dress,

In which you place your highest Happiness.

Know [...]h [...],

That many Fashions owe their Ori [...]in

To Pride o [...] Folly, nothing [...] th [...]n [...].

All your high [...]op-knots, [...] and Ruffs,

And Thousands more, besides [...]-inch-wide-Muffs.

[Page]Derive their Being not from Reason's Laws,

But owe their Birth to some fantastic Cause.

The Farthingale if Fame speak true was worn,

More to hide E [...]bryo, than to adorn.

A good Conceit!— For thus the un-born Child

In Covert Farthingale lay close conceal'd.

This Ba [...] s [...]n took, cause Count [...]s Such-a-one,

On [...]ch a Day was seen to have it on,

And thats enough.

The stiff, starch'd Ruffs in golden Days of Yore,

(When good Queen B [...]ss Bri [...]a [...]nia's Scep [...]re bore)

What was their Mean [...]ng, what was their Intent?

To hide bad Necks and Shoulders prom [...]nent.

The tow'ring Pyram [...]s that rose so high,

As if they'd bid De [...]i [...]nce to the Skie;

What were they for, but only to prolong

One End of Miss which Nature left un-done.

Thus by their kind, by their assisting Aid,

They made a proper of a Pigmy Maid.

But when the six-feet-Lasses with their Geers

(Those strapping female Granadiers)

Appear'd abroad, they seem'd to kiss the Stars.

They too poor Ladies, they must be in Fashion,

Tho' cursedly against their Inclination.

But how they look'd [...] how?— To help our Rhymes,

They look [...]d like Daughters of the A [...]aki [...]s.

Bu [...] now for Muffs, which [...]ua [...] People wear

To keep ou [...] chilling B [...]asts of [...]rigid Air.

The [...]all [...]n now to such a Pass is brought,

It has re [...]c [...]d [...]em almost [...]nto Nough [...].

If Muff but covers Finger's Ends t [...]s well,

'Tis [...], no matter w [...] they see▪

Lady [...]: was Parent of this Mode,

To her [...] in Origin [...]

[Page] [...]oor senseless W [...]etch [...] who rather than [...]e'd [...]

Fine Arm and Flaunder's,

Barters [...] [...]afe and Comfort for her Prid [...] ▪

But yet I fear, our blustring north-west Station

Will make our Ladies almost curse the Fashion.

Thus much for this, and that, and t'othet Mod [...],

With Thousands more that ne'er were understood.

But now to th' Matter. Now for walking [...]

Those monstrous Go-carts, Whale-bone-petticoats.

To ev'ry She that wears 'em, now have at her;

But let her know,—'tis Guilt applies the Satyr.

Now then.

In Gallia's Court, in beautiful Versailles,

Where smiling Pleasure spreads her fill [...]n Sails,

Wasting Desire on from Bliss to Bliss.

'Twas in this Court, this Gallic Paradise,

Charming Bellinda, beautiful and young,

The Subject of all Madrigal and Song;

Charming Bellinda, beauteous Toast of France,

Fam'd for her condescending Complaisance,

For taking Cavalliers into her Arms,

Nay, all that pay'd Devotion to her Charms.

But—(I grieve to tell the Sequel of the Story,

Ah! 'twill [...] the poor Bellinda's Glory.)

But be it as it wi [...].—The poor M [...]quise

Was pickl'd with a [...]ilthy French Disease.

She soffer'd gr [...]evously by sad Mishap,

Which mode [...] Empiries [...] call a Cl [...]p.

The per [...]e Lady overwhelm'd with Care,

Sinking, and a [...]most de [...]d in Despair;

Consu [...]ts her Doct [...]—

He, [...], views her W [...]ters,

Then [...] Matters

Tells her [...], she must end [...]re

A [...]

That [...], or someth [...]g more

She [...]

[Page]A [...] Time! Job's Comforter be [...]

[...] of Years!— [...]ellind [...] is [...]

If you wou'd [...]e [...] [...]ellinda's Grief,

[...], swift as Lightning you must bring Relief.

My [...] admit [...],

Some speedy Help! O [...] farewel all my Sca [...]e.

This very After [...] I must—But oh!

Torments and Pain, and—I can hardly go!

O Doctor, let your [...] Brain invent

Some Way, some Method, some Expedient

To help my awkward Ga [...]e.

Madam I'll think—But what shall cro [...]n the Hand

That—

T [...] Th [...]a [...]d LIVRES rest at your Command.

O Doctor you [...] T [...] again

And with your Wit support Bellinda's Re [...]

S [...]d I be abs [...] from [...] R [...],

Which [...] A [...]ternoon [...] come to Court,

All, all— O therefore let it be your Care!)

All, all my Conquests vanish into Air!

[...] Night [...] L [...]is with his Her [...] come,

To sing, Te Deum in you sacred Dome,

To sing Te Deum for his great Success,

In his first proffer'd Overtures of Peace.

The glor [...] ou [...] An [...]o [...] [...]

There fix m [...] [...] — Ambition centre there!

I'll m [...] a [...]

War [...] melt him down,

I [...] Vict [...] Vass [...] to m [...] Throne

I [...] with arb [...] [...],

I [...] admiring [...] World [...]

T [...] Doctor [...] like Hud [...]bra [...],

[...]

Ten Thou [...] [...] in his Brain

Now th [...] [...] more in vain.

[Page]At length,

Ten Thousand Livres, ah! that mystic Thought

The mighty Nothing to Perfection brought,

With a grim Smile he smoothes his plodding Front,

Madam (cries Crocus) I have thought upon 't.

'Tis thus.

Order your M [...]nton-makers to attend,

Tailers et cetera, for I intend

Deep within circling Ambuscade to hide

Your stradling Gate.

Madam I'll build you like a Pyramid.

Your female Architects 'tis they alone,

'Tis they must raise this mystic Babylon.

If you'll but follow my Advice—'my Word

Within few Hours, your Joys shall be restor'd,

And you'll to Court, 'spight of your stradling Gate.

My happy Project shall maintain your State.

Now mind me M [...]m.

To all your Petticoats add three or four

Ells of Materials, (or something more

If you think fit) than e'er they had before.

And then, Tire within Tire, all round about,

With circling Whale-bone arm and keep 'em out.

Let the Proportion of the Glacis bear

(The outward Works) six feet Diameter.

By this Device, you'll walk without much Pain;

And shine triumphant in Versailles again.

Besides,

If you but wear it, all the bubbl'd Nation

Will soon admire, and bring it into Fashion.

The fair Bellinda thus arm'd cap-a-pee,

Stradling took Coach, to go and sing Te De.

Thus I have shewn,

That Whale-bone-petticoats they had their Rise,

To hide a filthy Strumpet's foul Disease.

[Page]

And now [...] Ladies,

View well your monstrous Dress, and the [...] [...],

Think o [...] the Whore that was the Architect.

Deluded Fair-ones!

Were I as you, I'd in my own Defence

Throw off the M [...]k, and [...] my [...]

But if you're so bewitch'd [...] to persist

In spight of all; let me advise at least,

You'd add some Plummers to your Petticoat,

(For sake of Modesty I'll have you do 't)

That ev'ry [...]cy, ru [...]ng, wa [...]ton Bre [...],

Mayn't toss up all, and sh [...]w [...] very K [...],

As now it do's—

Take th [...] Advice, and quit your [...]lery,

Before you're driven by Necessity.

Consider,

Hoary December now comes rolling on,

With all his Pow'rs of Condensation:

He rushes on us now with dreadful Stride,

With thousand Terrours grinning by his Side:

Clad round [...] White, with [...] Sn [...],

And chilling [...] that [...] the [...] blow.

I laugh to think,

When north-west Storms come thund'ring at your [...],

How you poor Snails half fro [...] will retreat;

While they in whirling Eddies, swift as Thought,

On-hoop your Tubs, and shew us all for Nought.

But now to close.

Shou'd all this fail, and if you silly Wretches

Won't be perswaded to contract your Stitches,

Your next Extravagance will be our Breeches.

With this, perhaps, you think to keep you warm,

And laugh at us and ev'ry north-east Storm.

B [...] hold fair Termagan [...]! your Project fails,

The Law provides, and will debrozue your T [...]i [...]s.

This ne'er will do, for ev'ry Mother's Son

Will take up Arms against the Amazon.

[Page] [...] belong to Man, and while we live

We claim 'em as our sole Prerogative.

Patience good Ladies!—I have almost done.

But one Word more—If still you will go on

In spight of Satyr, Modesty and Sense

With your nonsensical Ex [...]ravagance [...]

I must be p [...]in, and tell you that I fear.

Within those Trenches lurks some Pioneers.

Cease Satyr, cease,—

I see the purple Red

[...]lush in the Face of ev'ry modest Maid.

The Innocents will all dislodge, and shew

They're whole, they're safe and sound; and if they do

The Whale-bone-petticoats will tell [...].

FINIS.

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‘Variae sine Viribus Irae.’

Information about this book

Title statement

The Origin of the whale bone-petticoat. A satyr. : Boston, August 2d. 1714.

Publication

Publisher

Text Creation Partnership,

Place of publication

Ann Arbor, MI :

Date

2004-12.

ID [DLPS]

N01442

ID [TCP]

N01442

ID [STC]

Evans 1709

ID [NOTIS]

APY8564

ID [IMAGE-SET]

1709

ID [EVANS-CITATION]

99036086

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Series

Early American Imprints, 1639-1800 ; no. 1709.

Notes

(Evans-TCP ; no. N01442)

Transcribed from: (Readex Archive of Americana ; Early American Imprints, series I ; image set 1709)

Images scanned from Readex microprint and microform: (Early American imprints. First series ; no. 1709)

Source

— The Origin of the whale bone-petticoat. A satyr. : Boston, August 2d. 1714.,

Extent

8 p.

s.n.,. [Boston? :: 1714?]. (In verse.) (Caption title.)

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