In wild Confufion huddled lies
A Heap of Incoherencies;

So here, in one Confufion hurl'd,
Seem all the Nations of the World:
Cardinals, Quakers, Judges dance;
Grim Turks are coy, and Nuns advance.
Grave Churchmen here, at Hazard play,
Cinque-Ace ten Pound done, Quater-tray.
Known Prudes there Libertines we find,
Who mafque the Face, t'unmasque the Mind.
Here, Running-Footmen guzzle Tea;
There, Milkmaids Flafks of Burgundy.
I faw two Shepherdeffes dr-nk,
And heard a Friar call'd a P-nk.
Loft in Amazement, as I ftood,
A Lady in a Velvet Hood,

(Her Mein St. James's feem'd t' explain,
But her Affurance Drury-Lane,
Not Hercules was ever bolder)

Came up and flapp'd me on the Shoulder.
Why how now, Poet! Pray, how fare
Our Friends who feed on Grubftreet Air?
For, be affur'd, we all fhall dub
Thy Laureat Brow with Name of Scrub.
No Man of any Fashion wou'd

Appear a Poet in a Crowd.

A Poet in this Age we fhun,

With as much Terror as a Dun:

Both are receiv'd with equal Sorrow,

Who wou'd be paid, and who wou'd borrow.

And tho' you never speak

we spy

The craving Beggar in your Eye.

For Poverty rules all your Hoft,
The Sin against the

Madam, to understand we're giv'n
That Poverty's the Road to Heav'n.

Why

Why ay (fays fhe) fo Churchmen fay,
But ftill they chufe the other Way.
Well, Madam (if it will allure you)
I am no Poet, I affure you.

Tho' in this Garb I'm, in Reality,
A young, fmart, dapper Man of Quality.
No Lawrels but a fmart Toupee,
In Drawing-Rooms, diftinguish me.
I often frisk it to the Play,

To Norfolk's, Kemp's, and Strafford's Day.
An Opera I never miss:

To fhew my Teeth I fometimes hifs.
I'm feen where-e'er the Ladies flock;

My Conversation's

What's a Clock?

Then of the Weather I complain;

No Matter whether Wind or Rain,
Or hot or cold: For in a Breath,

I'm fometimes fcorch'd, and froze to Death.
Rain has been often the Creation
Of a dry frozen Converfation.

No Wind e'er rages but it blows
In Sympathetick Mouths of Beaus.
Enough! (the Lady cry'd:) I fee
You are, indeed, the Man for me:
For all our wifer Part defpife
Those little apish Butterflies;

And if the Breed ben't quickly mended,
Your Empire fhortly will be ended:
Breeches our brawny Thighs fhall grace,
(Another Amazonian Race.)

For when Men Women turn

why then

May Women not be chang'd to Men?
But come, we'll take a Turn, and try
What Mysteries we can defcry.

Hold, Madam, pray what hideous Figure
Advances! Sir, that's Ct Hdgr.

How

How cou'd it come into his Gizard,
T'invent fo horrible a Vizard?

How cou'd it, Sir! (fays fhe) I'll tell you:
It came into his Mother's Belly;
For you must know, that horrid Phyz is
(Puri naturalibus) his Vifage.

Monftrous that humane Nature can
Have form'd fo ftrange Burlesque a Man.
Why, Sir, (fays fhe) there are who doubt
That Nature's felf ne'er made it out:
For there's a little Script which resteth
Of an Old Regifter, attefteth,
That Amadis being convey'd,
By Magick, to th' infernal Shade ;
By Magick there begot, upon
The fair Tyfiphone, a Son:
And that, as Mulciber was driv'n
Headlong for's Uglinefs from Heav'n;
So, for his Uglinefs more fell,
Was H-d-g-r tofs'd out of Hell.
And, in Return, by Satan made,
Firft Minifter of's Mafquerade.
Now this his juft Preferment bears,
'Mongft Wits, the Name of Kick-up-Stairs.
Madam, fays I, I am inclin'd,

(Tho' of no fuperftitious Mind)
To think fome Magick-Art is us'd,
By which our Senfes are abus'd:
For what can here this Crowd purfue,
Where they all Nothing have to do?
Nothing why fee at yonder Side-board

What Sweet-meats Mifs does in her Hide hoard.
A little farther take your Eye,

And fee how faft the Glaffes fly.
Again furvey the Inner-Room,

There trembling Gamefters wait their Doom.

Here,

and

Here, the gay Dance the Fair employs
There, Damon fues forbidden Joys,
Whilft Sylvia liftening to his Pray'r,
Gives him no Reafon to defpair.
See, where poor Doris tries t' afswage
The haughty Laura's fiery Rage;
Who caught him with a Rival Mistress,
(The fad Occafion of her Diftrefs.)
For drinking, gaming, dancing
Contriving to You understand --------
(What well-bred Spouses must connive at}
Are the chief Bus'neffes they drive at..
Some, indeed, hither fends Good-nature,
To vent their o'er-grown Wit in Satyr:
Some spend their Time in Rapertee;
Others (rare Wits!) in Ribaldry:
Whilft others rally all they fee,

With that smart Phrase Do you know me?
Below Stairs, hungry Whores are picking,
The Bones of Wild-fowl, and of Chicken;
And into Pocket fome convey

Provifions for another Day;

Preparing thus for future Wants,

They'ye both the Sting and Care of Ants,
But fee Loretto comes, that Common
Madam, how from another Woman
Do you a Strumpet masqu'd distinguish ?
Because that Thing which we, in English,
Do Virtue call, is always took

To hold its Station in the Look.
Poet, quoth fhe, (firft having fhaken
Her Sides with Laughter) you're mistaken.
Your Brother Bards have often fung,
That Virtue's feated in the Tongue:
With you, nor them, can I agree;
For Virtue's unconfin'd and free;

A POE M.

Is neither feated here nor there,
A perfect Shadow, light as Air,
It rambles loosely, every where.
In Mifs's Heart, at Ten, it lies;
At Twenty, mounts into her Eyes;
"Till Forty, how it does difpofe
Of its dear felf, no Mortal knows.
The Tongue is then its certain Station,
And thence it guards the Reputation.
Again (fays fhe) fome others afk,
They'll tell you Virtue is a Masque:
But it wou'd look extremely queer
In any one, to wear it here.
Madam, fays I, methinks you ramble;
What need we this your long Preamble?
Well then, as in the different Ages,
So Virtue in the different Stages
Of Female Life, its Station alters:
It in the Widow's Jointure fhelters:
In Wives, 'tis not fo plain where laid;
But in the Virgin's Maidenhead.
A Maidenhead now never dies,
'Till, like true Phoenix, it fupplies
Its Lofs, by leaving us another,
For fhe's a Maid who is no Mother.
And the may be- we fee in Life,
A Mother, who is not a Wife.

Now 'tis this Cafe, which in the Trumpot
Of Fame, diftinguishes a Strumpet:
This, having been Loretta's Fate,
Did to the World her Lofs relate.
So, poor Califtho it befel,
With fecret Injuries to fwell;
But had Diana through her Clan,
(To try how far th' Infection ran)
Forc'd all her Followers to Trial
Of, Chaftity, by Ordeal;

Whe