Sylvia's Complaint, OF HER Sexes Unhappiness. A POEM. Being the Second Part of Sylvia's Revenge, OR, A Satyr AGAINST Man.
LONDON, Printed, and are to be sold by Richard Baldwin near Oxford-Arms in Warwick Lane. 1692.
THE PREFACE.
THe General acceptance which Sylvia's Revenge found amongst all sorts of Readers, encouraged the Author to think of a Second Part, which tho' wrote after another manner, has equally as much of Satyr in it as the first.
Sylvia is for continuing the Old Quarrel between the Houses of York and Lancaster; the Cannons are mounted, and the Portcullis's drawn down, and she seems to be Deaf to any terms of Capitulation; but tis hoped Matters may come to some Accommodations in time, and the White Flagg be hung out, and such Articles agreed upon as it shall be hard to determine which Party is the Victorious.
If there be any soft and tender Lines in the following Essay, they must be asrib'd to the warmth of Sylvia's Passion; but if there are others which carry Thunder and Lightning along with them, they must be own'd to proceed from that Concern, the poor Creature has for her Injur'd Sex; for we all know that in the matter of Love and Revenge, Women are Inimitable.
[Page]But why Sylvias Complaint? and why not Sylvia's Complaint? Is the Feminine Government so fixed that it fears neither open Assaults nor secret Vnderminings? Are there no grievances to be redrest, no incroachments upon their Liberties? no Violation of their Priviledges? If such things are, who more fit to represent 'em than a Woman? especially one who can speak feelingly of 'em; for when a Woman finds the glittering Title of a Mistress is only made use of to Decoy her to anothers Will, her Blood must creep very slowly in her Veins, who has not some resentments of the Matter; and it has ever been the Civility of all Nations to give Lovers leave to speak.
If Sylvia has the Approbation of the Ladies, she Values not the Censures of the Men, she being her Sexes Champion, and will Defend their Cause against the Pen of any Daring He whatsoever.
It is resolv'd, she will write on and try,
The Wit and Courage of the Enemy;
Her Sexes Cause she'll Nobly carry on,
'Gainst the bold
Satyr, and the sly Lampoon,
Until there shall not be a
Scribling Fop,
That Dares pretend to take the Cudgells up.
Silvia's Complaint OF HER Sexes Unhappiness. A POEM. Being the Second Part of Silvia's Revenge, or a Satyr against Man.
'TWas in
JVLY, one glorious Afternoon,
When to avoid the
scorching Heat o'th'
Sun,
To a thick
Grove, compos'd of
Beech and
Oak,
(A place where
Poets oft their
Muse invoke.)
I went alone, but fearing lest I shou'd
Be thoughtful in so dark a
Solitude,
[Page 2]To Charm the seeming horrour of the place,
I brought with me the Works of
Hudibrass,
— (Diverting
Author, in whose ev'ry line
Exalted Wit, and weighty Judgment shine.)
Each Page with mighty pleasure I perus'd,
But as I o're his Charming Numbers mus'd,
Methought I heard a strange Confused Noise,
Of Sighs and Groans, which seem'd of
Female Voice;
Amaz'd I listned, and without a pause
Resolv'd by curious search to find the Cause;
The Eccho was my Guide, which quickly brought
Me to the place to find out what I sought;
In the most private part of all the
Grove,
By Nature fram'd for
Solitude and
Love;
To my Amazement and Surprize I found,
In Melancholly posture on the Ground,
A
Fair and
Young, but pensive
Virgin laid,
She was (or at the least she seem'd) a
Maid ▪
Her Habit
Rich, but Careless in her Dress,
Which best the Sorrow of the Thoughts express;
Tears from her Eyes like
liquid Pearls distill,
A sight would Savages with pity fill;
Thrice gently on her
Brest, her hand she struck,
And mixt with Sighs, these following words she spoke:
Ah me! to what Misfortunes am I born?
With
Greif opprest,
disconsolate forlorn;
But
Heaven and
Earth 'gainst us proclaim a
War;
We have no Weapons for our own Defence,
But that slight
Armour call'd our
Innocence,
Weak in it self altho' it seem so strong,
For 'tis not proof against a
slandrous Tongue.
Envy can blast it with it's poysonous Breath,
And
Malice torture it almost to Death:
Shou'd I within my thoughts but take a veiw
Of all those Ills our wretched
Sex pursue,
From Infancy till Aged we become,
The Number would amount to such a Sum;
My Thoughts would sinck beneath the pondrous weight,
Those Ills I do not mean which angry Fate
In measure from it's
Wrathful Vials pours,
Upon the
other Sex as well as Ours;
But those peculiar
Mischeifs which perplex,
Torment and Torture our
Vnhappy Sex.
But since I dare not the full Prospect veiw,
At least I'le take some notice of a few;
As Wounds unsearcht may fester, so my Greif,
Unless related, cannot find releif.
I'll tell my Sorrows to the
Woods and
Trees,
While —
Eccho with my
Sighs shall Sympathize,
Of all the
Engines which the
Feinds of
Hell
Did unto
Men our Deadly
Foes reveale.
[Page 4]To ruin and undo us, none there are
That may i'th least with
Flattery compare;
No sort of
Speech requires so nice a touch,
And nothing else can ruin half so much:
For one who has by other Arts been won,
Ten thousand have by
flat'ry been undone;
For like White Gunpowder it makes no noise,
Yet sure as Death, it certainly Destroys;
This
Poyson they into our Ears Distill,
E're we the Difference know 'twixt Good and Ill.
And we some kind of Tenderness must owe
To one who praises and commends us so:
When grown to
Riper Years, that Womans Breast
Must be with more than Common Vertue blest.
Who can secure the out-works of her Heart,
'Gainst
Flat'ries secret undermining Art.
Like pleasant
Musick it invades our Ears,
Our Reason blinds, and charms our greatest
Fears,
Disarms our Courage and we tamely yield,
To
Men in
Arts of
fine Dissembling skill'd,
Who all their
Study and their
Pains Employ,
To Bring
Vnthinking Us to
Guilty Joy.
So I have seen a
Maid, Young, Fair, and Chast,
By chance, or else by kind Appointment plac'd,
Close by the side of a
Dissembling Youth,
(Sworn Enemy to Constancy and Truth.)
[Page 5]With awful Distance is his first Adress,
Fearing least rudely on her Charms he press;
Till more familiar grown the
Spark at last,
Encircles with one Arm her slender Waste,
While t'other hand is honoured with the Bliss,
To grasp her soft Hand, or her softer Knees.
His Eyes, which are the windows of his Soul,
With soft and languishing
Desires are full;
Each glance of them Speaks more a
Lovers sense,
Than all the Raptures of
Lip-Eloquence;
Some little time by these
Dumb Signs he speaks,
Till with fain'd
Sighs he thus his Silence Breaks.
Ah Madam! 'tis impossible to tell,
The Racks and Tortures which I hourly feel;
Almighty Love —
Whom long I did,
[...]-out-brave,
Has to his Chariot
chain'd me as a Slave:
Ten thousand Beauties
with their Charming Powers,
Ne're mov'd my Heart, until surpriz'd by Yours;
Yours
with one Glance did stubborn me
subdue,
The Chains I wear are all put on by You.
Ah Charming fair! hSall I not entertain
Some Glim'ring Hopes, I shall not sigh in Vain?
Must I for ever these sharp Pains endure?
The Eyes that caus'd the Wound can give the Cure;
Bid me but hope,
that Dawning of Success,
And I shall have foretasts of Happiness:
Your Beauty
has unhappy me
undone;
Let not your anger still more wretched make
The Man
who dies a Martyr
for your Sake.
Will you? — Then Leans his head upon her Breast,
While frequent
Sighs and
Kisses speak the rest.
Who'd think such fulsom Stuff as this could kill,
But ev'ry Days Experience says it will;
Witness the truth of this each silly
Maid,
Who is by such like Practises betray'd,
Like our great
Grandame Eve, we all suppose,
No treachry under fair Pretences grows,
Her Longing too in us has taken root,
We ne're should else Disire forbidden Fruit;
No Force need doubt, that stubborn Town to win,
While Cannons play without, has Friends within;
One Pitying Thought in Virgins Bosom may
Sooner her Honour and her Fame betray,
Then Thousand Empty complemental strains,
Meer
Words of course, and froth of Empty Brains.
Farewel her Vertue when
Compassions move,
For she that
pittys, quickly learns to Love.
Could we see
Lust through all it's strange disguise,
And veiw not what it seems, but what it is;
With greater Horrour we the Feind should shun
Then
Divels, when they from Holy
Water Run.
[Page 7]Let Love or Passion be the fond pretence,
'Tis
Lust is still the
Mythologick Sense;
But Men so Artfully disguise their Passion,
And call their vilest Lewdness Inclination,
Like Fishes greedily the Bait we swallow,
Not dreaming of the Ills will after follow.
The three Conditions of the Female Life,
Are
Virgin, Widdow, or 'fore that, a
Wife;
To each of which Inexorable Stars,
Have order'd such a weighty Load of Cares:
So far out-ballancing our short liv'd Joys,
The pleasure ev'n of
Living it destroys.
When we are
Maids, and in our Virgin bloom,
Whole Troops of fond expecting
Rivals come;
And each by
Flattery, which they call
Praise,
In our Opinions strives himself to raise.
Nay, they who languish with a modest Fire,
Altho' they dare not speak, yet will admire;
This, but too oft our Vanity does Swell,
To see Men Languish, Sigh, Adore and Kneel:
When all this Mighty Complement is done,
Not for our Sakes, but chiefly for their own;
By thousand various Arts they strive to please,
And we are call'd their
Charming Mistrisses,
Treatment and
Balls for us are Daily made,
Nor must we want the Nightly
Serenade:
In Song and Musick they record our Fame:
Nay, our Devotions cannot be Defence
Against a Lovers vain Impertinence;
For ev'n at Church the
Spark which comes to Prayer,
Knows 'tis the smallest business he has there;
His Eyes, tho' lifted up to Heav'n for shew,
Yet through kind Glances to the Womens
Pew,
To
Ogle there he cannot think a Sin,
Since Holyness and Love are near of Kin;
For being inflam'd by Loose and Wanton Fires,
He makes Devotion
Pimp to his Desires;
No opportunity is lost to try,
Where we unwary and defenceless lye:
For when he finds our sleeping Vertue
Nodds,
Then is
the time, the
fatal time ye Gods.
He rushes on us with a storm of Love,
While we the grateful Violence approve;
Our Pleasure 'fore our Honour we prefer,
And with our Arms embrace the
Ravisher.
Think Heav'n is round us, when we try the
Bliss,
But while with waking Dreams our selves we please,
And think each
Rapture greater than the first,
The wretch by Heaven, and Earth, and us accurst,
Leaves us to
chew the Cudd with sad regret,
That we like
Phrygians were but wise too Late.
In Vain, in vain, ye
men of mighty sense,
Ye make to Love and Constancy Pretence,
Early or late you also plainly shew,
'Tis Monstrous for to Love and yet be true;
Alike ye all with
flattery begin,
To tempt and draw us to the Pleasing Sin;
Alike ye all forsake us when ye find
We Love you, and without Reserve, are kind.
If this were all, we might with patience bear,
And somtimes for our
Vertue drop a Tear,
When we believ'd what
foolish we had done,
Only to us, and
perjur'd — ; you was known;
— But oh! what
Plagues does he desire to feel,
Who Does the
Favours of the
Fair reveal,
And what in private done, in publick tell;
Altho' perhaps some little time before,
To gain his Ends, with horrid Oaths he Swore,
That open force nor Undermining Art,
Should never get the secret from his Heart:
But that more safe hee'd keep it in his Breast,
Then
State Intreigues, or
Juggling Arts of Priest,
When at next
Tavern or some
Joval bout,
A Glass of Wine brings all the Secret out.
Methinks I view him in a Rapture sit,
And thus Express himself —
Last Night, last Night,
[Page 10]
That happy Night when in the tender Arms,
Of a Kind She
I lay Dissolv'd in Charms;
Fill me a Bumper,
here's her Health, Dear
Will,
Methinks I feel the Killing Transports
still:
What Prince
would not his Dignity lay by,
To be one Night but half so blest as I?
All Young
and Charming
may she ever be,
But ne're be kind to any Man but me.
He takes great care to see her
Health go round,
With repetitions of the pleasing Sound;
To the obliging Fair One, tho' unknown,
Each takes his over-flowing
Brimmer down.
At last one subtle Youth by sly Disguise,
Desires to know who this
kind Goddess is;
The
Spark no
[...] wary of the sly
Trapan,
(For
Wine no Secret kept, nor ever can;)
Softly in his Ear relates, without Disguise or Art,
The whole
Intreague in every part;
Describes her Person, and what Cloaths she wears,
What
Pew she sits in when she goes to Prayers:
Perhaps reveals her Quality and Name,
And when he next must quench his am'rous Flame.
Thus is a Ladies Reputation spoil'd,
And her good Name is with her Vertue soil'd.
But Men in Wickedness still further go,
And to their prating Tongues no bounds allow;
[Page 11]Those Women whom with all their Art and Skill,
They cannot Flatter to their looser Will:
Finding their Vertue (which
they call their Pride,)
Strongly resist the importuning
Tide:
They will at least in Glory have their share,
And tell the World they have enjoy'd the
Fair:
And tho' they ne're could lure 'em to their Crimes,
Yet swear they've lain with 'em a hundred times.
Witness the truth of this each
Sparkish Beau,
Who boasts of
Blessings he did never know▪
Who from our
Sex no Favours ever had,
But those of
Vizor Mask, or
Chamber-maid:
Yet he of
Mistresses has such a store,
(That the
Grand Sultan scarcely e're had more.)
At
Court a few, and they be sure must be,
Pretended, if not real
Quality:
But in the
City scarce a Street or Lane,
Which does not some
obliging She contain;
Whose tender Heart was caught, we must confess,
By's charming Language, but more charming Dress:
Incorrigible Fopp, whose Impudence
Alone supplies his mighty want of Sense,
And doubly wretched
She whose Heart is slain,
By such an Ape, or Eccho of a Man.
More Mis'ries still our
wretched Sex endure,
And Mis'ries which can ne're admit of cure;
Nature when first she form'd our Minds took care,
To place the softest, tenderest
Passions there.
[Page 12]Hence 'tis, our Thoughts like Tinder, apt to fire,
Are often caught with loving kind Desire;
But
Custom does such rigid Laws impose,
We must not for our Lives the thing disclose.
If one of us a
lovely Youth has seen,
And streight some tender Thoughts to feel begin;
Which
liking does insensibly improve
It self to
longing fond impatient Love.
The
Damsel in distress must still remain,
Tortur'd and wrack'd with the tormenting
Pain
Custom and
Modesty, much more severe,
Strictly forbid our
Passion to declare.
If we reveal, then
Decency's provok't,
If kept, then we are with the
Secret choakt;
Besides, to Baseness Men are so ally'd,
So lifted up with Vanity and Pride,
That should a
Maid with Sighs and Blushes tell,
The restless Love she does for
Strephon feel;
Her sad Distress he would regard no more,
Than Rich Men do
Petitions from the Poor:
Whilst
wretched She in vain for Pity sues,
He leaves her to frequent the
Publick Stews;
So slights the Vertue which he should adore,
To kneel at Feet of Mercenary Whore.
The Charms of
Wit and
Beauty seldom fail,
O're the most stubborn Temper to prevail;
Youth without Art, and
Vertue without
Pride.
What store of Captives to her Conquering Eyes,
May she expect, who has these Qualities?
But if she wants what Charms above them all,
The
mighty Blessings which we
Mony call;
In dull obscurity she long may live,
And Visits rarely as the Dead receive;
Till Reverend Age her
Beauty has decay'd,
And she becomes an
Old dispised Maid:
Unless seduc'd, and past all sense of shame,
She prostitutes her
Vertue and her
Fame,
And yields her self to every
looser Flame.
I pity from my Soul th'
unhappy Maid,
By
Arts of Men, and her own
Wants betray'd,
To act a
Crime she never knew before,
And has the choice to
Starve or be a
Whore:
Oh
Poverty ! thou undermining Ill,
Whose fatal Damp too oft does
Vertue kill.
How many thousands of our
Sex there are,
Whose Minds were Vertuous, as their Faces Fair;
Devoted now to shameless Infamy,
Occasion'd only by their Poverty:
But leaving them as
Blotts upon our
Race,
To reap the Fruits of
Lewdness and
Disgrace;
Let us observe another Scene of
Life,
And view the
Blessings which attend a
Wife.
If
Custom we Accuse as too severe,
In Impositions when we
Virgins are;
What Yoaks and Fetters does the
Female choose,
Who enters in the
Matrimonial Noose?
To be the Partner of anothers Flame,
Gives up her Self, her Fortune, and her Name,
Her Hours of soft Repose and Liberty,
Nay, her own will then cease to be free;
For what Commands may not a
Husband lay,
When the Wifes part,
is only to Obey?
And we the blest Effects may see each hour,
Of such unbounded
Arbitrary Power.
If Young, and by her Inclinations led
To taste the Pleasures of the
Marriage Bed,
And has as Partner in the
Nuptial Joys,
The
Youth above all Mankind her Choice;
Pleasures about her in such Numbers throng,
Pleasures which cannot be express'd by Tongue:
Her Spouse and She, each Minutes time improve,
And Day and Night is but one Scene of Love;
They kiss in Publick, fondly without measure,
And think they ne're can have enough of
Pleasure.
With scorn they look on
unprovided Pairs,
And think no Happiness so great as theirs:
[Page 15]But ah! the young and lovely
Bride too soon
Perceives the waining of the
Hony-Moon:
Her
Passion by Indearments still improves,
And till the more enjoy'd, the more she loves;
While the ingrateful Wretch she
Husband calls,
By little slights shews how his Fancy
palls,
By frequent use grown weary of her Charms,
He comes with
dull Indifference to her Arms.
If here the Humour stops, some hopes are left,
(Provided he's not of all sense bereft;)
By Arts of kind Indearments to recover,
Th' expiring
Passion of the
Husband Lover.
Wild Beasts by roughness may endure the Chain,
But milder means are us'd to soften Man:
Kind
melting Kisses, modest, yet desiring,
May raise to Life a Passion
Just expiring;
And he's a Monster
Affrick ne're saw,
Whose frozen Mind such kind Heats cannot thaw.
But if by strange insensible Degrees,
(The
Bride in vain striving by Arts to please;)
The
Husband should (by his own baseness led)
From slight Dislikes, at last forsake her Bed:
In
solitary Sheets she pines and grieves,
While like a
Rake-hell Libertine he lives,
Leaving his
Spouse in solitude to mourn,
Whilst he does for some
stubborn Strumpet burn;
[Page 16]With whom his vacant Hours are all employ'd,
And dear-bought Pleasures by the
Brute enjoy'd:
But his wild
Rambles did I Pleasures call?
Pleasures which with them bear the
Scorpions Tail;
By such
Delights they very often gain
A moments Pleasure, but an Age of Pain;
To' th'
Marriage Bed th'
Infection goes sometimes,
And the
Wife suffers for the
Husband's Crimes.
But if one constant to the
Nuptial Vow,
Does not himself such Liberties allow;
A far much greater Evil oft ensues,
For there's no
Woman if she were to Chuse,
But likes a
Rambling, 'fore a
Jealous Spouse.
The ones wild Frolicks may in time be cur'd,
But
Jealousie can never be endur'd.
Let
Priests the Peoples Ears amuse with
Story,
But sure on Earth there is no
Purgatory;
Like living with a Man, whose
jealous Eyes
Must watch a
Wife in all her
Privacies:
Better t'ad been on her
Wedding Day,
She had descended to
Sepulchral Clay,
Than with a
Jealous Coxcomb all her life,
Have worn that slavish Epithet,
a Wife.
If she does Pains of
Purgatory feel,
Who's
Husbands Jealous — She has sure a
Hell;
[Page 17]Who must surrender all her Youth and Charms
For sake of
Gold, up to an
Old Man's Arms,
With Tales of Death none need affright her mind,
Since Day and Night she does its Image find.
For
Husbands Faults poor
Wives still bear the blame,
Does he Debauch in
Punck, or
Wine, or
Game?
And so is brought to Want and Poverty,
The base censorious World does quickly Cry:
We thought indeed this Match would ne're prove good,
Since his proud Wife wore such a High Commode,
Forgetting his Night-rambles up and down,
To all the Topping Taverns of the Town,
Wherein one Week he spends more Mony Clear,
Then would provide
Head-dresses all the Year.
But I as well may indiscreetly try,
To count the Stars which twinkle in the Skie,
As go about with leasure to relate,
The Mischiefs which attend the
Female Married State.
How oft have
Widows, who have broke the Chain,
Been tempted to the
Fatal Noose again?
By ugly Tongues of false Dissembling Men,
And tho' once cheated, venture once again:
Widows are Baits for Younger Brothers laid,
To
patch a Ruin'd Fortune, or a Trade;
Experience in the Sreets proclaims it loud,
That from the great and Num'rous Female Croud,
[Page 18]
Widows like Deer, are singled from the Herd,
To be undone, which Suiters call prefer'd:
They tell' em that they hate the
Skittish Maid,
Theyr for a Womans Judgment pois'd and weigh'd,
Till they have lur'd' em to the fatal Curse,
And they are theirs
for better and for worse.
(But ev'ry Day's Relation makes it common,
To love the
Mony, when they hate the
Woman.)
Some
Tawdry Youthful Punck is then maintain'd,
With good
old Gold in former Days she gain'd.
Or if she Dies, which very oft does follow,
A Heifer purchas'd with the Old Cows Tallow.
These
Sylvia, these are Dismal Truths to tell,
But ah! these Truths are known but too too well;
Oh! could I change my Sex, but tis in vain,
To wish my self, or think to be a Man,
Like that
wild Creature, I would madly Rove,
Through all the Feilds of
Galantry and
Love;
Heighten the Pleasures of the Day and Night,
Dissolve in Joys and Surfeit with Delight,
Not tameley like a
Woman, wish and pray,
And sigh my pretious Minutes all away.
Woman a Ceature one may justly call,
Natures and Mans, and Fortunes
Tennis-Ball,
Woman — What Noise is that? —
Oh Heavens! a Man!
Assist my Blushes.
At which away she ran,
Swift as the Wind; nor could I too this hour,
Find out who was this
Female Confessor;
'Twas time to go, the
Charming Pratler gone,
But thought, as I was homeward jogging on,
In all my Converse with the
Female Kind,
I ne're till this time did
Woman find,
Freely without reserve to speak her mind.
THE EMULATION A Pindarique Ode.
I.
AH! tell me why (mistaken Sex) do we
So little real Beauty see
In the admired adored
Minerva, the Goddess of Wisdom.
Athenian Deity.Why do we fain'd
Minerva slight,
Despising Knowledge, which we ought to prize?
Must none but the insulting Sex be wise?
Must they be bless'd with Intellectual Light,
Whilst we remain in Ignorances Night?
Wee've Noble Souls as well as they,
And wee've retentive Mem'ries too.
But I suppose, they think wee'll best obey,
And best our servile Business do,
If nothing else we know.
But what concerns a Kitchin or a Field,
And those low things they yield:
As if a rational unbounded Mind
Should be to such low worthless fordid things confin'd
II.
They'l let us learn to Work, to Dance, to Sing,
Or any other Trivial thing;
But they're unwilling we should know
What sacred Science can impart:
Nor would they have us dive into the Abyss of Art,
Nor in the Labyrinths of Learning go,
Nor have us know the Languages of Schools,
As if they thought to keep us Fools.
That we their boasted Skill the more might prize,
And think them highly wise,
Because we have not Wit their Follies to despise;
For Ignorance doth Wonder breed,
And those who do but little know:
May be persuaded all is Witt indeed
That's spoke by Men, altho' it be not so.
They think their lofty Strains we will admire,
And judge that
Mercury did them inspire.
But, should we understand as much as they,
They fear their Empire would decay;
For they know Women heretofore
Gain'd Victories, and envyed Lawrels wore.
And now they fear wee'll once again
Ambitious be to Reign,
And so invade the Territories of the Brain.
And as we did in those Renowned Days,
Rob them of Lawrels, so we may now take their Bays.
III.
But we are peaceful, and will not repine;
They still may keep their Bays, as well as Vine.
We've now no
Amazonian Hearts,
Therefore they need not guard their Magazine of Arts.
We will not on their Treasure seize;
A part of it▪ sufficiently will please.
We'll only so much Knowledge have,
As may assist us to Enslave
Those Passions, which we find
Too potent for the Mind;
Tis o're them only, we desire to Reign,
And we no Nobler braver Conquest wish to gain.
IV.
We only so much Wit desire
As may instruct us how to live above
Those Childish things which most admire,
And may direct us what is fit to love:
We would have Learning for no other end,
But that our Time we may the better spend;
Supposing 'tis below us to converse
Always about our Business or our Dress,
As if to serve our Senses were our Happiness.
Wee'l read the Histories of former Times,
And look with Horrour on their Crimes.
[Page 24]But all their Vertues wee'l with Pleasure view,
And both admire and imitate them too:
Wee'l also study Sciences and Arts,
All that's Ingenuous we will learn;
For to be wise sure is our chief concern,
And therefore we with care should cultivate our Hearts.
V.
But if the Envious Men will still declare,
That 'tis enough for Women to be fair:
Without their leave, we will be wise,
And Beauty, which they value, wee'l despise.
Our Minds, and not our Faces, wee'l adorn;
That's the Imployment for which we were born.
The Muses kindly will their Aide allow,
And to us all their Mysteries shew.
And therefore their Assistance wee'l implore,
Whilst Men inspiring
Bacchus do adore;
Without whose Elevating Wine
Wee'l try if we can witty be,
And with the help of the auspicious Nine,
That VVomen are not Fools we'll plainly let them see.
FINIS