A SATYR AGAINST MAN.
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 2] 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,
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 4] 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 5] 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 6] 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 7] 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 8] 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 9] 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—
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 11] 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 12] 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.
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 14] 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 15] 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 16] 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 17] 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 18] 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.
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 20] 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 21] 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 22] 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.