Poor, plain Concupifcence is in difgrace,
And fimple Letch'ry dares not shew her face
Left she be sent to Bridewell; bankrupts made,
To fave their fortunes, bawds leave off that trade,
Which firft had left off them; to Well-clofe-Square,
Fine, fresh, young ftrumpets (for Dodd preaches
there)
Throng for fubfiftence; Pimps no longer thrive,
And penfions only keep L alive.
Where is the Mother, who thinks all her pain, And all her geopardy of travail, gain,
When a man-child is born, thinks ev'ry pray'r
Paid to the full, and answer'd in an heir?
Short-fighted Woman! Little doth the know
What ftreams of forrow from that fource may flow,
Little fufpect, whilft the furveys her boy,
Her young Narciffus, with an eye of joy
Too full for continence, that Fate could give
Her darling as a curse, that she may live,
Ere fixteen winters their short course have run,
In agonies of foul, to curfe that Son.
Pray then, for daughters, ye wife Mothers, pray; They fhall reward your love, nor make ye grey Before your time with sorrow; they shall give Ages of peace and comfort, whilft ye live, Make life moft truly worth your care, and fave, In spite of death, your mem'ries from the grave.
That fenfe, with more than manly vigour fraught, That fortitude of foul, that ftretch of thought,
That Genius, great beyond the narrow bound
Of earth's low walk, that judgment perfect found,
When wanted moft, that purity of taste,
Which critics mention by the name of chaste,
Adorn'd with elegance, that eafy flow
Of ready wit, which never made a foe,
That face, that form, that dignity, that ease,
Those pow'rs of pleafing with that will to please,
By which Lepel, when in her youthful days,
Even from the currish Pope extorted praise,
We fee, tranfmitted, in her daughter shine,
And view a new Lepel in Caroline.
Is a fon born into this world of woe?
In never-ceafing ftreams let forrow flow,
Be from that hour the house with fables hung,
Let lamentations dwell upon thy tongue,
Even from the moment that he first began
To wail and whine, let him not fee a man.
Lock, lock him up, far from the public eye,
Give him no opportunity to buy,
tho' rich, was fold, And gave his body up to fhame for gold.
Let it be bruited all about the town, That he is coarse, indelicate, and brown, An antidote to luft, his face deep scar'd With the small-pox, his body maim'd and marr'd, Eat up with the King's-evil, and his blood, Tainted throughout, a thick and putrid flood, Where dwells Corruption, making him all o'er, From head to foot, a rank and running fore.
Should't thou report him as by nature made,
He is undone, and by thy praise betray'd;
Give him out fair, Letchers in number more,
More brutal and more fierce, than throng'd the door
Of Lot in Sodom, shall to thine repair,
And force a passage, tho' a God is there.
Let him not have one fervant that is male;
Where Lords are baffled, fervants oft prevail.
Some vices they propofe, to all agree;
H- was guilty, but was M- free?
Give him no tutor-throw him to a punk,
Rather than truft his morals to a monk-
Monks we all know-We, who have liv'd at
home,
From fair report, and travellers, who roam
More feelingly nor truft him to the gown,
'Tis oft a covering in this vile town
For base designs ourselves have liv'd to see
More than one Parfon in the pillory.
Should he have brothers (image to thy view
A scene, which tho' not public made, is true)
Let not one brother be to t'other known,
Nor let his father fit with him alone.
Be all his fervants, female, young, and fair,
And if the pride of Nature fpur thy heir
To deeds of Venery, if hot and wild,
He chanc'd to get some score of maids with child,
Chide, but forgive him; whoredom is a crime,
Which, more at this, than any other time,
Calls for indulgence, and, 'mongft fuch a race,
To have a baftard is fome fign of grace.
Born in fuch times, fhould I fit tamely down,
Supprefs my rage, and faunter thro' the town
As one who knew not, or who fhar'd thefe crimes?
Should I at leffer evils point my rhimes,
And let this Giant Sin, in the full eye
Of Observation, pafs unwounded by ?
Tho' our meek wives, paffive obedience taught,
Patiently bear those wrongs for which they ought,
With the brave spirit of their dams poffefs'd,
To plant a dagger in each hufband's breast,
To cut of male increase from this fair ifle,
And turn our Thames into another Nile;
Tho', on his Sunday, the fmug Pulpiteer,
Loud 'gainft all other crimes. is filent here,
And thinks himself abfolv'd, in the pretence
Of decency, which meant for the defence,
Of real Virtue, and to raise her price,
Becomes an agent for the cause of Vice.
Tho' the law fleeps, and, thro' the care they take
To drug her well, may never more awake;
Born in fuch times, nor with that patience curft
Which Saints may boast of, I must speak, or burft.
But if, too eager in my bold career, Haply I wound the nice, and chafter ear, If, all unguarded, all too rude, I speak, And call up blushes in the maiden's cheek, Forgive, ye fair, my real motives view, And to forgiveness add your praises too.
For you I write-nor wish a better plan-
The caufe of woman is moft worthy man-
For you I ftill will write, nor hold my hand
Whilft there's one flave of Sodom in the land.
Let them fly far, and skulk from place to place,
Not daring to meet manhood face to face,
Their fteps I'll tract, nor yield them one retreat
Where they may hide their heads, or reft their
feet,
Till God in wrath fhall let his vengeance fall,
And make a great example of them all,
Bidding in one grand pile this town expire,
Her tow'rs in duft, her Thames a lake of fire, Or they (moft worth our wish) convinc'd, tho late,
Of their paft crimes, and dangerous estate,
Pardon of women with repentance buy,
And learn to honour them, as much as I
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