A TERNARY OF SATYRS. CONTAINING,

1. A SATYR against MAN.

2. A SATYR against WOMAN.

3. A SATYR against the POPISH-CLERGY.

Composed in French by an Exquisit Pen, And now done into English.

LONDON, Printed for W. Leach, at the Crown in Cornhill, 1679.

A SATYR AGAINST MAN.

OF Creatures all, that fly i'th' Air, or be Walking on Earth, or swimming in the Sea,
From Paris to Peru, Rome to Japan,
The grand Fop-Animal, methinks, is MAN.
What! Ants, Worms, Rampant Insects (you'l reply
To me in haste) that live imperfectly,
The bellowing Bull, Goat browzing o'th' young sprout,
Have much more Wit than Man? Yes, without doubt.
This, to you Doctor, 's a surprizing thing:
Of the whole World Man is both Lord and King;
Woods, Fields, Creatures, were made for's Use we find;
His Portion was a Rational Mind.
'Tis true, at first, Reason fell to his Lot,
Thence I conclude Man is the greatest Sot.
These things, you'l say, in a Satyric stile
Will please the Reader, that designs to smile,
But you must prove 't by Rule, Sir. Well, agreed.
Your Answer then, good Doctor, pray proceed.
What's Wisdom? Aequanimity by name,
Which nothing can disturb, no Lust enflame,
Which moves in Council at a prouder rate,
Than a Dean mounts the Palace Stairs in state.
Now this calm State is Wisdom I confess,
And who, than Man, e're understood it less?
The Ant, who yearly traverseth the Fields,
Hoards Magazines, which Ceres Treasure yields;
And when that Boreas brings back the Cold,
Makes Nature, rushing from thick Mists, look old,
She sculks in darkness, but enjoys that while
The Fruits in Winter of her Summer's toil:
Yet you ne're find this Creature wavering,
Active in Winter, Idle in the Spring;
Affront the first Months fury on the Plain,
Or lazy when the Ram returns again.
But Man ne're halts in's mad Career, doth run
From Thought to Thought, sans intermission;
'Mongst thousand Broils in's Heart still floating, shows
What he would, or would not, he never knows.
What he to day loves, he to morrow hates.
For my part I le go wed a Wench that prates;
Enur'd t' Affronts, thus frequently I'le show
The City's Motto, Cuckolds all arow.
Besides me, Fops enow th' Town-talk, I know,
Said the dull Marquiss but a Month ago,
Wh' a Fortnight since the Marriage Snare did take,
And summon'd only for Example sake,
Nay, 'tis his Creed; That God did make a Bride
True for him only out of a new Side.
This is right Man, who roves from Black to White,
Condemns i'th' Morn his Sentiments last Night:
Importunes all, himself does incommode,
Changes his Mind as often as his Mode;
Turns at each gust, and stumbles at a straw;
For th' Sword to day, to morrow for the Law.
Survey him in his aery-humor'd strain,
Lull'd with the fond Chimera's of his Brain;
He's Nature's basis and her sole support,
The tenth Heaven wheels about, but thank him for't:
He's Lord of all the Creatures, you'l reply;
Who can deny't? possibly that may I.
But without Trial, in dark Dens who fears
The Bear? The Traveller, or he the Bears?
Whether by Edict made in Nubia,
Can Smithfield-Lions scowre Lybia.
This titular Lord who gives them Laws, even he,
This King of Beasts, how many Kings hath he?
Ambition, Love, Avarice, Hate, we find
With slavish fetters do enchain his mind.
Soft sleeps no sooner do close up his eyes,
But's time to march, says Avarice, arise;
Nay, let me take one minutes rest, you'l say.
The Suns not up, nor Prentice, 'tis not day.
No matter, rise; for what? when all is done,
From East to West to plow the Ocean;
Porcelan and Amber seek for at Japan,
At Goa Ginger, Pepper too, fond Man!
I'me rich enough you'l say, this toil i'le pass.
You cannot Doctor, too much wealth amass.
You must no perjury, nor Crime forbear;
Your Lodging must be hard, and hard your fare,
Had you more wealth than Croesus, yet ne're crave
Goods in your House, nor a Domestic Slave.
On Barly live and Ry, hazard your Throat,
'Mongst heaps of stores rather than lose a Groat.
And why (the Reason Sir) live thus and spare?
That a well educated and brisk Heir,
Of wealth to you useless may make a gain,
And the whole Town, in time, cheat with his Train.
What then? He must depart; th' wind fills the Sails;
If Mony tempts not with its Charms, but fails:
With a more splendid Train Ambition goes,
And forcibly ruffles his calm repose;
Exposes him to danger for a Name,
Tracing the Caesars steps, but comes off lame:
And in the Breach rashly with Death beset;
Does by's fool-hardiness Grace the Gazet:
But some may say, Drol more to purpose; hold,
This Vice the Hero's Virtue was of old:
Was the Pellaean youth, think you, too blame;
Who causelesly all Asia set on Flame?
He, Hairbrain'd, Bloody, did his case bewail,
And call'd the Conquer'd World his closer Jayle.
Storm'd, of a Province small that he should be
Born King, he might have Govern'd prudently;
Phancying himself a God, about did rome,
Like a Bandito, without House, or Home.
By Horrors of the War attended, he
Fill'd the whole World with his grand Foppery:
Happy had been the Macedonian's Fate,
If some small Cottage had been his Es [...]te;
And by advice of Friends and Tutors, he
Had bin confin'd there from his Infancy:
But not to wander with Digression,
And like Senault through all the passions run;
In Classes them, and Titles to Dispose;
Then Dogmatize in Verse, and Rime in prose.
To th' Schools and Lawyers let us leave this Art;
And take a view of Man's most Noble part.
'Tis said, he only in wall'd Towns lives, who
Dictates Civility and Manners too;
Makes Rulers, Magistrates and Kings, we see;
Obeys the Laws, observes a Politie.
'Tis true; yet, without Policie or Law,
Or of the Officers standing in aw,
Do you curs'd Wolves in Highways e're discover
Like Man Inhuman, rifling one another?
You never saw fierce Tigers, bearing sway,
With Factions divide Hircania.
Does the rough Bear in woods war with the Bear?
The Vulturs prey on Vulturs in the Air?
Find you i'th' Afric Plains (the Land of wonder)
That Beasts their own Republics rend asunder?
Lions 'gainst Lions, Sire 'gainst Sire debate,
In the fond Choice of Tyrants to a State?
Of all Nature e're teem'd, the fiercest Creature
Regards, in his own Species, his own Feature;
Their Rage to one another Moderate,
Live without Noise, Law Suits, Clamor, Debate.
Eagles in Camp, pretending Royal sway,
Ty not an Eagle to th' Appearance day.
No Fox, against a Fox, did e're give fees,
Unto a Lawyer for his stealing Geese.
The Hind in Rutting-time you never saw
The Hart, for's Impotence, accuse at Law.
There are 'mongst them no Placats, nor Requests,
No Council, nor yet Chamber of Inquests.
They Live one with another safe and free,
Under pure Laws of Simple Equity.
By Cut-Throat-Man, Self-Murder only is
A brutish Honour counted: Nor is this
Sufficient; for he by infernal Aid,
Sharpned the Murdering Steel, Gunpowder made;
And in his Rage, to th' World a fatal Pest,
VVith puzling Laws perplexed the Digest,
Seeking with Glosses to obscure't; thus he,
VVith heaps of Authors, smother'd Equity.
And to compleat our woes, to France did bring
Haranguing Eloquence, that Irksom thing.
Soft, you will say; what need you thus fly out?
Man has his Passions beyond all doubt;
And as the Sea ebbs and flows, falls and rises;
But his mean Virtues ballance all his Vices.
In fine, is it not Man, whose daring Arts
By th' Compass, measures th' VVorld, and all its parts?
VVhose comprehensive Knowledge grasps all things?
Knows, rifling Nature, whence the first cause springs?
Have Animals their Universities?
Take they Degrees in the four Faculties?
Have they Doctors of Law and Physic, who
VVear scarlet Robes, and fur'd with Ermins too?
No, their Physicians, Poisons ne're impart,
Made up in Doses by their Murdring Art;
Arm'd with vain Arguments, they don't like Fools
Grow hoarse with bawling 'mongst them in the Schools.
No more; if ever our weak minds do
Know any thing they know, or ought e're knew;
Tell me, i'th' Age we live in, if you can,
VVhether by knowledge they do measure Man?
VVould you have the Grandees throng to you, Son,
The Father said to's Child with tender Down,
Then take the surest side, throw books away;
A hundred Francs at 5 pence, what make they?
VVell said, thou knowst, all that is fit I see,
VVhat Wealth and Honor now will shower on thee!
Practise these Nobler Sciences, my Boy,
Leave Plato off, take the Checquer Employ;
Seek out what Provinces turn best t' account,
To what th' King's Salt- Gabel does yearly amount;
Harden thy Heart, turn Arab, Pyrat, Jew,
B'unjust, Oppressive, doubly Faithless too:
Play not the Generous Fop, swell thy Estate
And Fortune, squeezing the Unfortunate;
Cheating Colbert's unwary Prudence; try
To merit Fortune by thy Cruelty.
Then thou'lt soon find, the Poets, Orators,
Grammarians, Doctors and Astronomers
Degrade the Hero's, to make room for thee,
And their Books swel'd with thy High Titles see.
In Hebrew, Greek and Latin prove, that you
The strength and whole Design of their Art knew.
Rich! and you'r all; Wise, without Wisdom too;
Learning's your Portion, tho you nothing know.
Y' have Spirit, Soul, Merit, Rank, all that's Good;
Dignity, Virtue, Valor, Noble Blood:
Belov'd by great ones, cherish'd by the Fair;
To Surintendents all are Debonair.
Gold, Beauty to Deformity doth give;
But all is Dismal, if in want you live.
Thus th' wary Usurer his Son educates,
Tracing a facil way to Grand Estates;
And oft hits, tho he knows but this, weak brains!
Five and four's Nine, subtract two, seven remains.
Now Doctor, read the Bible, till you be
Pale, mark the shelves out of that dreadful Sea;
Of that Divine Book th' holy Horror sound;
Luther and Calvin in one Tract confound,
Unravel all the fam'd Debates of old;
The Rabbins Learn'd Obscurity unfold:
To th' end a Bible, in Spanish Leather bound,
When y' are well stricken in years, to some Renown'd
Porter, may Dedicate your Work Profound;
And for Reward of your Bible-Explanation
Pay you, with Thank you Sir, it'h' Acceptation.
Or if thy Mind at greater things does aim,
The Sorbonist's, the Schools and Cap Disclaim,
Take up a gainful Trade henceforth, and be
Prentice t' a Banker or a Notary:
Then leave Aquinas to agree with Scot,
And yield with me, A Doctor's but a Sot.
A Doctor? no, a Poet you'l reply;
You force your rash Muse there to soar too high:
But not to talk away time out of season,
Come to the Test; is't not Man that has Reason?
Is't not his Light? his faithful Pilot too?
Yes; but pray to what purposes say you;
When they to faithless Winds entrust them­selves,
Having in view nothing but Rocks and shelves,
What boots it C — if reason oft do Cry,
Leave Scribling, Cure thy Rhyming Malady;
If all this good Advice won't make him cease,
But's Ballad-fury still the more increase;
His Verse daily with noise he does recite,
And puts Relations, Neighbours, Friends to flight.
For when his Daemon moves him, then 'tis said,
All persons leave him, but his Kitching Maid.
An Ass, by Nature taught, obeys, poor thing!
It's leading Instinct, without murmuring;
Nor does, with his harsh voice, the Birds defy,
To sing in Consort with him; foolishly
He, without reason, marches on his way;
But Man enlightned by't, 's blind at noon day:
Rul'd by himself, does all at Counter-season,
In what he does has neither sence nor Reason.
Things please and displease him, oblige and mad,
He without Reason is both brisk and sad;
His mind does love, avoid, pursue by chance,
Doe, undoe, add, deprive, destroy, advance.
And do you find like him Panther or Bear,
Themselves with their own Phancies idly scare?
With Aery Fantômes combat th' appetite,
And with vain Contests disappoint Delight?
Tell me, did Man e're know the Beasts unwise,
Sacrifice to him, or him Idolize?
Approach him, like th' Winds or Times Deity,
Beg weather fair or foul with bended knee?
No: but Beasts oft see th' Hypocondriack
Man worship metal, he himself did make;
See th' Country, where faint-hearted Mortals doe
Tremble at a Monkey's foot and Altar too;
And those weak People, bordering on the Nile,
Offer up Incense to the Crocodile.
But why, say you, this Example odious?
Aegypt, and her false Gods, what's that to us?
You'l prove by this prophane Discourse alas,
Good Doctor, Man's inferior to an Ass.
A Creature that's the scoff of all the rest,
Subject to thousand woes, a stupid Beast,
Whose only Name will set a Satyr off:
Yes t' an Ass, what is't makes us at him scoff
And flout? but if that him we would permit,
On our Defaults to exercise his Wit;
Or to Reform us, if kind Heaven would grant
The use of speech at length, he now does want,
That he his mind might freely utter, pray
What, betwixt you and I, would he not say?
What can he think, when 'mongst the Rabble Rout
In a Parisian street he stares about,
And sees Phantastic Men in their Array;
Some daub'd with lace, some cloth'd in Black, some Gray?
What says he, when h' an Assassin does find
Gallop to's Patient carrying Death behind?
When 'fore a Rector a rude Squadron's found,
Marching in state with Beadles circled round?
Or does the Sherif in a huge Crowd spy,
In Ceremonious state lead Men to dye?
What thinks he of us, when on a Court-day
He to the Palace takes by chance his way,
And afar off hears a damn'd, knavish Fellow,
Just like a Fury, in the Great Hall bellow?
What says he, when he sees the Officers,
Judges, Clerks, Proctors, Ushers, Registers?
O' if the Ass should turn Manhater then,
And, as in Aesop's time, speak once agen;
Seeing every where that Men such great Fools be,
He from his heart would without Jealousy,
Content with Thistles, shake his head, and cry,
'Faith, Man is but a Beast, as well as I.
FINIS.

A SATYR AGAINST WOMAN.

IN this declining Age I'm bold to say;
Man is compos'd of a less Noble Clay,
Then heretofore; Nature does clog the Earth
With a degenerous, and sordid Birth:
Thrusts Men Dough-bak'd into the World; dull Clods?
Who want a Fire from the inspiring Gods.
To Actuate their Souls, that they may be,
Men unconfin'd, and, like the Air, free.
By their Base Condescention Females sway
Who were by Nature Destin'd to Obey;
For Woman in this Foppish Age and Nation,
Like Adam, Lords it o're the whole Creation;
Nay she does more, than Adam e're cou'd doe,
She names the Beasts, and sometimes makes them too.
Yet Man this Thing first Weds, then bears it'h Van
The Turkish Ensign, th'o' a Christian.
How shamefully dos Man on Woman dote?
The Breeches warp unto the Petticote?
'Tis strange, methinks, and yet t'is True, that we
Should live in this Decrepit Age, to see
The Pike and Pen, do Homage to the Spindle;
'Twould vex a Royal Spleen, a Passion kindle
Within a Stoic's Brest, that e're Man She
Should claim Imperiously Supremacie.
A Faithles, Soulles, Senseles; Puny Chit,
Neither endow'd with Reason, nor with Wit;
A mere Bagatel, a Childish Tov,
At best a Bardless, Sex-distinguish'd Boy;
A well-complexion'd. Fury, Seeming Saint,
Only made up of Powder, Patch and Paint;
A Fair-foul-fiend, whose Fascinating Ey,
Basilisk like, darts poison, til they dy,
Who are her Objects; murders by whole-sale,
As if she scorn'd to Slaughter by Retail:
Natur's Disgraceful By blow, Blush and Shame,
A Peevish, Idle, Gossiping, Proud Dame;
Who in her best of humors (no one doubts)
Is troubled with the Tatles, or the Pouts;
Whose Wind-mil pated Clack does far out run
The rapid Motion of the posting Sun.
VVhen Meagre Death strikes with his Fatal Dart
Males, the last Member dying is the Heart,
But when the Females, whether Old or Yong,
Then the last Member dying is the Tong.
Antient Philosophie denied the Notion,
(Modern finds tru) of a Perpetual Motion;
'Tis strange to me; when the wise Greek of old,
Had his Xantippe, that Notorious Scold,
VVhose Aspen leav'd Tong never could stand stil;
Nay she (resolv'd in all to have her will;)
VVhen he to shun her Clamor out did fly,
Bedew'd his Hairy Scalp with Chamber-ly.
VVhat said the Good Man t'ot? why, tis no VVonder,
I did expect a storm after such Thunder.
It'h Cradled Infancy of Childish Time,
VVhen th' unborn Man, Created in his Prime,
Govern'd the World, then Peopled but with two,
And Eden their Apartment was, He, who
A Tenure had given by Heaven in Fee;
T' him and his Heirs of Immortality,
And the whole World his own Real Estate;
As much as Avarice could crave; said Fate!
To Forfeit Life, Real Estate, and all,
Through Eve's Temptation, by a Cursed Fall.
VVhich cripled his Posterity e're since,
And made him Delve, who first was made a Prince.
If the Pure state of Perfect Innocence
Brought forth bad actions, we must now dispense
VVith wors, or fear them, and so guard our selves,
From the sly Craft of these Bewitching Elves,
Six Thousand years Experience, litle les;
Must crown their Malice with desir'd Succes.
Then for the future, who will e're beleeve
This Female Brat of Apple-eating Eve?
A Crafty Cheat, Decoy, a mere Trepan,
A Ratle to disturb the Quiet Man;
A Painted Tomb, that entertains within,
No other Guests but Rottenness and Sin;
VVhose soul's Benegro'd black as He, at best,
VVho wears Natur's dark sables in the West:
The unstain'd Man of Ʋz, in whom we see
Patience Proverbial, Wealth and Poverty,
VVhose Fertile Fields, Treasure, Cattle and Stores
At first were numerous, as at last his Sores,
VVhose Riches, as Approved Authors grant,
Could not be match'd it'h Opulent Levant;
VVhen he had lost his Issue, Flocks and Lands;
Rob'd of his Camels by Chaldaean Bands,
Depriv'd of all but his most Wretched Life,
Tormenting Satan, and a Tempting VVife:
The Jailer of th' Infernal Abys gains
Leave, by Divine Permission, with Sore Pains
T' aflict the Good Man, who lays his damn'd Clutch
Upon his Body, and with one foul Touch,
His Blood Ferments, Ebulliats through his Pores
And fils him Cap-a pie with filthy sores.
Now the Poor (once Rich) Man, who was so Great,
Hath nothing but a Dunghil for his Sear;
A worthless Potsherd, the Instrument with which
He scrapes his Blanes t' allay the painful Itch.
And when 'twas found, that all this would not doe,
The Tempter tempts his VVife to tempt him too;
VVho thus Accosts with Evish subtilty,
Dear, tho Poor Job, prethee, Curse God, and dy!
But he stands firm, like an unshaken Rock,
And Patiently endures the Boist'rous Shock
Of all Assaults; had Adam don so too,
It had bin better for him, me and you.
Next to th' Ephesian Matron I Appeal,
VVhose name Historians modestly conceal [...];
Daughter to one, who heaps of wealth did gain,
By Rich Returns, plowing the Briny Main:
She by a Brisk Youth Courted, soon was Wed,
Enjoy'd the pleasures of a Marriage-bed,
And was as suddenly by Cruel Fate
Left Consortles, and in a Widow'd State:
Now she declines all Comfort, and does strive;
Like a Chast wife t' Intomb her self alive.
VVho thus deprived of her Dearest all,
VVith rivulets of tears laments his Fall.
A Souldier, guard t' a Rogue (whose Villany
Hang'd him upon a Gibbet fix'd hard by)
On no less Penalty then Death, should he
Be by his Friends stolen from the Fatal Tree,
Boldly with his strict orders dos dispence,
And, in the Night silently steals from thence;
By a Taper's glim'ring Light led to a Vault,
Where, at his first approach, he made an Halt.
Spying a Lady overwhelm'd with Grief,
He thought, in Charity, wanted Relief;
She first assaults him; Spectre, Ghost, discover
What thou dar'st say to a Distressed Lover!
But to Weak Nature forced to submit,
Through Faintness, falls into a Swooning Fit;
Startled, and at a los, he hastes in fine,
To his ful Jug of Ammunition-wine,
Gives her a mod'rat Potion, which it'h close;
Prov'd a Restorative and Cordial Dose,
Reviving Natur's stifled heat; so She
Recover'd soon of her Lipothymie,
And then he, Soldier like, Banquets her there
What some repeated Draughts, and Knapsac­fare.
To find Humanity lap'd up in Buf
Was a strong Obligation, and enuf
To sway with her, whom Grief did so Perplex,
(Besides the weakness of her weaker Sex)
And that from an unknown Physician, who
Prov'd both her Mars, and her Apollo too,
Now she Caresses, Kisses, yields to that,
Which my Muse blusheth at, I know not what.
And this the Proverb verifies, In Love
Nothing that's Violent can Lasting Prove.
She, fir'd with her new Love beyond Degree,
Her old Love's Grave their Brothel-House must be,
Defiles her Husbands Ashes, False! Unjust!
Makes his Dead Corps Pimp to her filthy Lust;
This is not half the Tragi Comedie,
The last Act shows her Marchles Constancie.
But now the Soldier to his Charge returns,
And finds the Body lost: O how he burns
With Rage and Indignation, Fomes and Rores,
Just like the wounded Erymanthian Bores!
Runs, Madman like, back to his Graecian Dame,
And does 'gainst Her, and the whole Sex Exclame,
Raves, like a Fiend Infernal, and does tear
The unbought Locks of his Course Stragling Hair;
Curses Fate, Fortune, Destiny, and She
That was his Grave-Companion, Desp'ratly;
Who bears these Outrages, continues Calm,
And strokes his Wainscote-Cheeks with Snowy Palm,
By Woman-Craft persuades him all is wel,
Or shall be, e're they quit that Dismal Cel;
Patience, she cries, let me alone to shift,
A Woman's Wit is best at a Dead Lift:
Know Man of War, 'tis usually said,
A Live-dog's better than a Lion Dead.
Thus she Advises: see the Pregnancie
Of Female Wit, in Plotting Vilany.
There is but one Expedient for you,
(That must be done with Expedition too)
T' escape the Ignominius Destiny
Ot'h' Criminal stolen from the Gallow-tree;
Haste then, for fear the prying Sun descry
The Female Cheat, with his All-seing Eye;
The Stately Mausolea of Proud Kings,
The Noble Structures, are but empty things,
Subject to Time and Fate, waste and decline,
Like the Ʋ [...]n'd Ashes, which they do Enshrine.
[Page 25]
The Tartars hang their Dead upon a Tree,
In Imitation of them, so will We.
From Earth to Air remove him, I Consent;
The Air's a far more cleanly Element:
Break up the Tomb, the Corps uncoffin straight,
Since 'tis Decreed so by Compulsive Fate;
The best of Mortals, and of Noblest Birth,
When Dead, is but a Lump of sensless Earth.
Friendship and Love determin in the Grave,
All but Surviving Charity to Save
The Living by the Relicts of the Dead:
My Life's wrap'd up in thine, that Forfeted,
My Dearest Mars, I'm utterly undon;
But that Secur'd, two are Preserv'd in one.
With Posthumous Respects, and Reverence
To the consuming Body, I'l Dispence,
Of my Deceased Husband, to the end,
I may Enjoy my Living, Loving Friend.
Come, wee'l his Face with Dirt and Blood besmear,
And by this Artifice deceive his near
Friends and Relations; this Disguize will do't
Effectually, with Death's Disguize to boot;
Wee'l also break his Arms and Legs, that we
May bid Defiance to Discovery,
And he may, in the general, common Vogue,
Want no Marks of Resemblance in the Rogue.
If bold Offenders dare thus (as you see)
By an unheard of Crime, Tomb-Burglary,
Violat Tombs, and their dead Guests deface,
How can the Grave be Term'd a Resting place?
This she propos'd; and Joyntly he and she
Trus'd up her Husband, left him there to be
A Spectacle to all that go, or come,
Of Widow'd Love the swinging Pendulum.
This Am'rous Trick being play'd, they Trudge away
To his Obscure Quarters (for Delay
Breeds Danger) to Consult there and Advise
About their safety, fearless of surprise,
And to Enjoy in that Poor Hovel'd state
The Foul Embraces of their hasty Fate,
Melting in Lust, till that, each Morn the Sun
Spy Mars and Venus in Conjunction.
Exit Ephesian, Enter on the Stage
Cimmerian Lady, (Wonders of their Age)
Each prov'd a Wealthy, Witty, Pretty Bride,
And faith, tis pity, something els beside.
A Brace of Bucsom Wives, Bonny and Blithe,
Whose Acts, as long as Time does bear a Scythe,
Or Death a Dart, ne'r shall, by my Consent,
Want, to their shame, a Lasting Monument.
Both were Intrigu'd in Love at the first sight,
And with a privat Sentinel, in spight
Of Fate and Fortune, so that we may grant,
Venus will still cleave to her Old Gallant.
On the Cimmerian Confines liv'd, of late,
A Gentlewoman of a Vast Estate,
Of shape far more Exact in every Part,
Than Statu form'd by Fam'd Alberti's Art:
Of Features, much more sweet and Delicate,
Than was the Paphian Queen; Immaculate,
As Clear at first in Reputation
As th' Hunting Goddess was; and VVife to one
By Usury Rich, by Riches Eminent,
VVith him Enjoy'd the Pleasures and Content
Of Conjugal Fidelity and Love,
And scorn'd the Lewd Caresses of a Jove:
But ah! how subject unto Change we find
The Mutable Affections of the Mind!
For she that so Obsequious and Chaste,
To her Dear Consort was, longs now to Taste
Of the Forbidden Fruit, by Lust being Led,
And Hurried on, Nauseat's the Marriage-Bed.
For she by chance darting a wanton Look
At a young Soldier bathing in a Brook,
Weapon'd she thought with an Impetuous Nerve,
That scorn'd a Disappointment, fit to Serve
In Venus Wars, a Proper, Lusty Stallion,
Tho in good sooth, a poor Tatterdemallion;
At which the Winged Bow-boy draws his Dart,
And with a Golden Shaft, soon Wounds her Heart.
The Husband at her Coldness did Admire,
And sudden Change; but mildly did Inquire
Into the Cause; she, like a Crafty Dame,
Dissembled, and Conceal'd from him her Flame,
With showers of Tears endeavouring to suppres
Love's Calenture, but all without Succes,
All his Endearments proved but in vain,
And Courtship did but heighten her Disdain:
This Gloomy Humour made her lose the Grace,
And Charming Air of her Admir'd Face;
The Roses in her Cheeks and Colour dyes,
This dul'd the Lustre of her Sparkling Eyes:
Add to these Dreadful Symptoms, Restles Nights,
Broken Discourses, Shunning of Delights,
Her Love of Solitude, sudden Startings too,
And forced Sighs, with swooning Fits, that doe
Waste and Consume the Spirits, Health Decay,
And Wounded Hearts, spite of themselves Betray.
Thus scorch'd with Love no wonder if that He
Became Confirmed in his Jealousy,
VVhich from her he obscur'd, as well as she
Conceal'd her Love from him, most subtilely;
But to Resist Love is as hard a Task,
As 'tis that Passion to Disguize, or Mask;
Th' Impatient Matron now her Art will try,
She must Enjoy her Paramour, or Dy.
Thus without farther Council, or Delay,
Being Wing'd with Love, she nimbly trips away
T' a Messageur d' Amour, so cal'd abroad;
But in Plain, Honest, Downright English, Bawd;
And soon Engageth her by Silver-Charms,
To go Ambassadress to th' Man of Arms,
And Treat with him concerning a Firm Ligue
Of Love, a Pretty Amorous Intrigue;
And that a privat Interview might be,
Upon the first fair Opportunity.
The Blunt, Rough, Son of Mars did soon Assent
To this Proposal without Compliment.
The watchful Usurer depriv'd of Rest,
His Discomposed Phancie did suggest
Thousands of Plots and Stratagems of Wit,
And this most hopeful, as he thinks, may Hit:
He instantly does preparation make
For a Long Journy, he pretends to take,
And at the sad Farewel both seem to grieve;
His Dear Fidessa, as you may beleive,
Counterfeits Sorrow too, with feigned Fears,
Of his Mishap, and Artificial Tears,
Moistens her parting Kisses; but when he
Departed (e're Aurora blush'd) then she
Thought now, that the Propitious time drew near,
Wherein she might Enjoy her Dearest Dear;
So that with Lust Enflam'd, and all on fire
To Crown with solid Pleasures her Desire,
Her Running Quean she does Commissionate,
T' acquaint her Lover with the Fortunate
Departure of her Husband, and that he
Might meet with Freedom, and security.
Straight was the Message by this Hackny-Jade
Deliver'd, and an Assignation made,
That when Tir'd Sol had run his full Career,
And's Empire in the upper Hemisphere
Resign'd to Night, he at a Postern might
Have free Admission to his stolen Delight;
And lest through too much Zeal her Lover's Flame
Might cool at first, she, like a Prudent Dame,
Prepar'd a Rich Collation, Generous Wine,
Conserves, Provocatives, a Good Design
To carry on the work: Nay farther she
Contriv'd the whole Affair so Craftily;
And sent her Chamber Maid (the only Spy
Appointed o're her, through the Jealousy,
Of her Fond Husband) to a Wedding, there
Presuming, that the Wench would have a share
In throwing of the Stocking at the Bride,
And several other pretty Tricks beside,
Which would retard her sudden coming home.
At length th' appointed Hour being come,
The Punctual Soldier, directed before,
Advanceth silently to the Back-door:
But finding it close shut, he straightway fel
To th' posture of a Careful Sentinel:
Her Husband no les Vigilant, who lay
At a Friend's House Conceal'd, return'd this way,
And spy'd the Night-walker, but silently
Enters the House, and does as soon espy
His Wife in a most Rich, Night Linnen-Dres,
At which the wit of Man cannot expres
How he enflam'd with Rage about did Glare,
And just, like Caesar's Ghost, on Brutus Stare.
But entring her Bed-Chamber there does find
(Enuf to Discompose a Quiet Mind,)
The Dressing-Table with Delicats new spred,
Clean Sheets, and Perfum'd Pillows on the Bed;
Enrag'd he without uttering one word
Strips her stark naked, (which must needs afford
A Pleasant Sight, to see her Snow white Skin;
Had any other there Spectators bin)
And carrying her down to the Porch, we find,
He did her Arms unto a Pillar bind:
So in this Posture, you might truly say,
That you did see the Fair Andromeda,
A second time to a Rock Naked Chain'd,
Where she per force contentedly remain'd,
Worthy another Perseus for to free
(Love and Enjoy) her from that Tyranny.
With passion Drunk th' Us'rer to bed doth reel,
Whilst in the int'rim our Man of Steel,
He, Soldier-like, perdu ith' open Air
In great Distraction, and as great Despair;
Belated and Benighted walks alone,
And does his Hopes thus Frustrated Bemone,
Until he heard the Dolsom Midnight Chime,
In Expectation of th' Appointed Time;
Watching, as fast shut up, the Lady's Door,
As Janus Temple in the Days of yore,
And times of Peace, at length he march'd away
To his she-Officer, Tir'd with Delay
And puts up his Complaint to Her, which she
No sooner heard; but starts up instantly,
Covers with a loose Vest her Aged shame,
And Trots with him to the Italian Dame.
Arriv'd she bids him wait, not draw too near,
'Til she Inform'd him that the Coast was Clear;
No sooner Entred, but as soon Amaz'd,
She frighted, on the Living Statu Gaz'd;
Recover'd of her Consternation,
The Message was deliver'd, whereupon
The Lady finding that the Chains of Love,
To her did more Intolerable prove,
Then those of Jelousy, endow'd with Wit
Inferior to her Beauty not a whit;
Wheadles this Engineer of Lust, tho' old,
To disengage her Arms from the too Cold
Embraces of the Pillar; then Assails
The Easy Bawd, and she as soon prevails
In her place to be bound, only while she,
To give Assurance of her Constancie,
Hastens to her Gallant; a Daring Deed!
For one so late Surpriz'd, so lately Freed,
Nay not yet freed, from future Afterclaps
Of Torments, nay of Death it self, perhaps;
Rashly to throw her self without Demur
Into the Arms of her Adulterer,
And Destiny it self Force to give way,
To her desir'd Lust without Delay.
The first Banquet of Kisses o're, then he
Did his Devoir to her effectually,
Sans Compliment; for verify he wou'd
Her good opinion of his parts as Good.
The poor Cornuto, now without Offence,
I think, we may him call, having his fence
Lok'd up with Sleep, that Dream'd, with strange Surprize
He saw his Wife her Honor Sacrifice,
Himself turn'd shaggy Satyr too, whilst he,
Reveng'd the Contumelious Injury.
Th' enrag'd Malbecco leaps out of his Bed,
Runs to the Window, with an Aking Head,
Cals on his Consort, whose Secur'd Bail
Hear'd all, and Trembled for to hear him Rail;
And all the while, Poor Wretch, as silent was,
As the Mute Pupils of Pythagoras,
During their first Novitiat; but he
Enrag'd at this Contempt most furiously
Snatch'd up a Razor, and away does fly
It'h' very Face of his Wife's Deputy,
And with a single, and well guided Slash
Cuts off her Nose, and leaves a Fatal Gash;
But the now Noseless Bawd still underwent,
VVith more then Spartan Patience and Content
These Torments, with a Courage Brave and Bold.
The Nose Schismatical was scarcely cold;
When his Faustina, sore against his will,
Had finished her first Trial of Skil
VVith her stout Gladiator, and, Dear Heart,
Did from him with a thousand Kisses Part.
Return'd, she understood how Matters went,
And her Affliction highly did Resent,
Endeavor'd with soft Language to Assuage
Her Grief, and did by promises Engage,
To get her made, let Fortune do her worst,
A Nose of better Metal then the first.
This Mollified the Bawd, expeld her Fears,
VVho would have sold for Money Eyes, and Ears,
Into the Bargain. Thus the Bawd at last.
Loos'd from the Pillar, bound the Matron fast,
(And to a Surgeon straight away she goes
With the Remainder of her Mangled Nose)
She both a VVoman, and in Love, in fine
Does thus Contrive her Fortunate Designe,
Counterfets an Appeal unto the Moon,
For her Protection and Redress, as soon,
As she did clear and visible appear
Above the verge of our Hemisphere,
She Invocats her Help, and makes her Mone,
By Supplcation, in a Whining Tone,
Mixt with a Sigh, or two; and then she feigns
A Dialogue with Phoebe, and Complains,
With Elevated voice, as if that she
Had Heard her Prayer 'gainst his Tyrany,
This sad Harangue soon reach'd the Cuckold's Ears,
Alarum'd all his Faculties, with Fears
And Grief Perplexed, suddenly he rose
View'd his Wife's Face, look'd for her Mangled Nose,
But found all perfect, knew this could not be,
But by the Power of some Deity;
Having Committed such a Bloody Act,
He sunk down at the Horror of the Fact,
Begs Pardon first of Heaven, then his Wife;
With Promises of a Reformed Life,
(Too wise to be Inexorable) she
Like a Good Soul grants it most Graciously.
Then he her Liberty does streight restore,
With Solemn Vows ne'r to afflict her more.
Kis'd her all o're, and now to Bed they're gone
To Seal this Reconciliation.
The Witty Matron, bles'd be th' God of Love,
A Pattern of Pure Charity did prove
Thus she recover'd three things in the close,
Her Husband's Love, her Honour, and her Nose.
Thus the Cimmerian Dame came off with store
Of Wit: I've done, read but one Story more.
The Roman Matron, that Salacious Dame,
(Who Burn'd with Inextinguishable Flame)
T'Allay her Lust, Incognita, did use
For to frequent i'th' Night the Common Stews,
And Challenge the best metald Stoutest Crack,
That in Bed-skufles e're knew strength of Back,
To a Venereal Skirmish of them two,
In their Repeated Lust, which should outdo.
The Match thus Fairly made, to work they go,
And graple with the Amicable Fo:
But it fel out, that the whole Remnant-store
Of Stock exhausted was, (who long before
As common as a Barber's Chair had been,
No sooner one out, but another in)
Flags in the Hot Pursuit, does fairly yield,
And slily without Murm'ring quits the Field.
But now the Royal Harlot, who held out
Twice twelve Renconters, and a single Bout,
Like an Imperial Whore, at last she cry'd,
I'm tir'd with Men, but yet not satisfi'd.
The Bearded Shaggy Brute, that's known to be
Proverbial for his Stench and Leachery,
Had he but Speech and Reason would Exclame
Against such Matchless Lust, and Blush for Shame.
To prove that Woman's but a waggish slave,
Whose Womb's insatiable, like the Grave;
A Jointed Baby, made up of fine Dust,
Who rather than once Disappoint her Lust,
Her Body Basely will expose to Sale,
And, like a wanton Cat, play with her Tail.
Read this old Fable, call it what you wil,
The Moral Application holds good stil.
The Thunderer once, at a Noble Treat,
Resolv'd to make his Jollity Complet,
And steep all Cares in Nectar, which did Swim
In Goblets, till the Foam 'orelook'd the Brim;
He in the Heat of Healths, and Raillerie,
Does Briskly thus Accost his Queen, say's He,
In short, great Consort, this is the Debate,
In Am'rous Sports, VVoman's Insatiate,
Has the most Ravishing, and heightned Pleasure,
Is Lecherous it'h Act beyond all measure:
This she denys. Tiresias, who had Tri'd,
Both the Delights of Bridegroom, and of Bride,
Must end the Difference, who once did find
Two close Engendring Serpents, and unbind
Their Coilings with one single stroke Srange Fate!
And so the Man became a Woman straight.
Seven Winters thus he liv'd and pas'd complete,
But in the Eight the same he did remeet,
And said, if you can change Man's Nature so,
I will Experiment the other Blo,
Then strook, away they ran, and as soon then
Was Metamorphos'd to a Man agen.
He, chosen to Decide the Difference,
Confirms Jove's words, which highly did Incense
The Angry Juno, who to wreak her spight,
Mufled his Eys in one Eternal Night.
The God, who, what was done, could not Undoe,
His Intellect with Fates that should ensue
Inspir'd, and did Gratefully supply,
His Bodies Ey-sight with a Mental Ey.
But soft, my Muse, why so Unnatural,
Thus to Requite your Mother's Milk with Gal
And that weak, Tender Sex with Crimes o'reload:
Wel! since 'tis so, I'l sing a Palinode.
Woman is Staid, yes if Confin'd at Home,
There, or elswhere, her Mind does ever Rome.
She's Chast, and deserves to be Chac'd, 'tis Tru,
Quite through the City, if she had her Due.
She's Constant, that's allow'd, but how! you see,
She's only Constant in Inconstancie.
She's Patient too, and yet (observe withal)
She has not Phlegm enough t' Allay her Gall.
She's Beautiful, there you have hit it, so
Sodom's fair Apples make a Glorious Sho,
And Tempt the Ey to Gaze, but touch'd, I fear,
Nothing but Rottennes will then appear;
She's Witty, Ay! a most Prodigious Wit,
That Plots more Mischief then a Jesuit.
She's Politic, therein she does Excel
The Florentin, Pope, Belzebub, and Hel,
She is a Helper too; who in Conclusion,
Help'd all Mankind unto their own Confusion.
Ih fine, I Think she's now well understood,
She's all, she's any thing, but what is Good.
To her own Sex Deceitful; Tru to none,
What, neither Man nor Woman? no, not one.
Barb'rous to Foes, Injurious to her Friend;
Most False to all Mankind, and ther's an END.

A SATYR AGAINST THE Popish-Clergy.

WHat Chaos is it? What Extrava­gance
Does Discompose the Spirit of our France?
What Hellish Fiend, 'mongst us such Change hath sent,
And Novelty in all our Government?
We Nullify, Establish, Make, Unmake;
Nothing's Intire, what e're we undertake;
Retrench, and then Resaint our Saints, Fine Sport!
We Plead ith' Hall, and Feast it at the Court:
The Reformation Reform'd should be,
The Antient Laws and ours Disagree,
So Chang'd in Form, they are not understood,
O, that the Clergie too Reform they wou'd!
That them of half their Tithes they'd Disposses,
Then Reformation would Great Crimes Redres,
Their Large Revenues Souls destroy good store,
And the Rich Priests Complain stil, they are Poor.
Why should they who th' Apostles Imitate,
Then other Men have ten times more Estate?
We ought to Regular this Enormity,
And Teach our Priests to Live more sparingly.
Miters and Crosiers only we do meet,
Ratling in stately Coaches through the street.
They, on a Solemn Day, forget, alas!
That God himself road Meekly on an Ass!
They talk of France and her great Taxes blame,
Which the World Murmur's at, and Cries out shame;
They are no Grievance, if you them Compare
With the bad Laws by Priests made ev'ry where.
All People are Church-Dettors born, and you
Must pay for Christning, and for Burial too.
With one Fatal Accord all Priests alive,
In fine, by Life and Death know how to thrive.
A Good state, that affords a Lively-hood
By Muttering o're four Leaves ununderstood,
And Mumbling Prayers three, or four a day,
Thereby their Houshold Charges doe Defray.
What a Good Breviary have we then?
A Priest is stil the Happiest of Men.
Marry! a License must be bought for you;
Pay for them, and the Priest will sel you two.
One Mite short, and you'r Disappointed, see,
If this be not, what's a Monopolie?
Which some at Paris, of the Holy Fry
On this Grand Sacrament put Injuriously.
Wil you the Tenor have Rung out by us?
One of those Harpies will Accost you thus.
Never Monopolie to this Pitch came;
You, that are Ringers, don't you Blush for Shame?
How these Imposts disgrace you! and may wel,
To make us pay for the sound of a Bel.
Then all Ring out, and for 5 French Crowns you
Shall have them Ring, and Ring the longer too;
A Base, Inhuman Sexton, t' whom you can
Wish no wors Plague, then see a Living Man;
Th' Il-boding Raven on the Ded do's Prey,
And Buys, and Sels Graves in a Trading way;
Choose out your ground for Burial, he'l say;
The nearer to the Quire, the more you Pay:
So much for Ground, and the High Altar; who
Did such an Imposition ever kno?
And what's to Natur's Law more Opposit,
Then Sel to th' Ded their own Sepulchral Right?
I willingly with other Vails Dispence,
Whereby Closefisted Priests scrape up the Pence.
I am a Papist, and ha' no Designe
Their Livesto Censure, who should Censure mine:
They've Reason, I believe, for what they doe,
And all their Patrons Work strange Cures too.
They with Wax Tapers each Disease can Cure,
If made of Virgin-wax, you may be sure;
He that's Uncur'd, 'tis, 'cause his Faith's but small,
But I, becaus I see't, believe it all,
Into those Mysteries Il' never Pry,
My Priest himself says it, and so must I.
I've Faith; if he does Il, on his own Hed
'Twil fall; But Buying Licenses I Dred;
And that Church-ornaments for Sacred Use,
Should, like Shop-wares, be Rated, Grand Abuse!
If, at your Funeral, you'l the Richest have;
For such an Ornament so much they Crave:
If Silver Utensils; The Officer
Asks, whether great, or small you do Prefer?
The Price is different; so much 'twil Cost,
Bring Ready Money, or your Labor's lost.
Church-men ne're Trust a Mite, but at you spurn,
If poor the wooden Cross must serve your Turn.
But hold your peace, 'tis very Dangerous
To talk of Priests, and talk Il of them thus:
They'r no fit Subject for Satyric Style,
Muse, find som other out, to make thee Smile.
FINIS.

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