Poems Lyrique Macaronique Heroique :: :: University of Virginia Library

Have Men there idle tricks begun?
Pox ont! what means their course?
Shall Poets prate, till Breath be gone,
Yet men still worse and worse?
Bob Wisdom's Psalms, are never the near,
To the Lad, that's proud of his Cod-peece Geare,
Which makes the Vitious, fret and swear,
And me, to Bann and Curse.

2

I once was minded, to be Dumb
And ne're to make a Word;
Although that Mankind, all and some,
Were hang'd who'd care a T---?

111

But now my Tongues at no Command,
I cannot hold it, with my Hand,
As easily, as Cocks can stand,
My Reasons R'yme afford.

3

And first, I'le violent hands lay on,
There Puffs, and perfum'd Ware;
Their pride, so with a pouder shown,
Does go against the Hair.
For though, their Clothes, are out at Elbow
Th'are Captains, straight, with their Blades of Bilboe,
With them six pence, and the devil in hell go!
'Twould make one stamp and stare.

4

Their down right thoughts, ne're mind their Books
Th'ave e'ne almost forgat 'um;
For since Old Nad, fell of oth' hooks,
Mens Fingers, ne're itcht less at 'um.
And if they can but the Scriptures abuse,
They Laugh (as if they could not chuse,)
At Moses, Hopkins, and Sternolds Muse,
'Twould make all Women hate 'um.

5

Their Faces, are rubb'd in such sort,
With pieces, of brass kettle;
As if they were Old Dogs oth' sport,
And Mettal bear, on Mettal:

112

They with their antick Mops, and Mowes,
Will Face down Truth, how e're the world goes,
Lilly has no such signs as those,
Will times, and things ne're settle?

6

With these, they are imbolden'd so,
And look so tow'rdly on 'um,
That Others wives (forsooth) they'le know,
When little thanks they con 'um:
And every night they feast their Cullies,
With bowle of sack ne're think it full is,
As easily, as Whores get Cullies,
Ne're think what has undone 'um.

7

Oftimes you'd think 'twere all their Own
They take so much, upon 'um;
When presently, they are struck Dumb
You'd wonder, what's come on 'um.
They are so sullen, and stout God mend 'um!
We Maides can never tel wher'e to send 'um
I would the Whores (with a Pox, would end 'um
Or Heaven keep us from 'um.

8

Their rude Demeanour, is a scare Crow,
For Women, for to fear 'um;
Their bitter Oaths do so far go,
That surely, I'le beware 'um:

113

And when with many a Jeggam-bobb
Th'ave got you, into the Pound of Lobb
They'le leave you, as Bobabill, left Cobb
The Devil will (once) not spare 'um.

9

Somtimes, th'are all ith' fire of Love,
And live, like Salamander,
And then I wish some queans, would prove
And each of these, a Pauder:
But (the plain truth, for to illustrate)
They are such Creatures Women must hate,
And if their Wills, you can't frustrate,
They'le bring your Souls, in Danger.

10

Two Mere maides (once) had got an Eele,
Whose body th'ad a plot on;
Dear love (quoth they) w'are true as steele
But Geers, they would not Cotten:
For thinking him sure, as Louse in Bosome,
He wriggles his Tayl and strait, out goes 'um
So quickly slipt away, to loose 'um
Him saw they ne're a jot on.

11

Or if some men to good be brough't
And purpose, what th'ave spoken;
'Tis ten to one, th'ave ne're a groat,
Then Silver, can't be broken:

114

Who else is Sped, is Matcht with a Stalion
He'le have her, soon at the Lock Itallian,
She's Fool and Asse, and Tatter-de-mallian;
That Wedds, for ne're a Token.

12

The holy Sisters, often pray,
And Scriptures, Eke unfold,
Yet men, as though 'twere out oth'way,
Ne're harke, to what is told:
You may speak, as well, to an Image of dough,
Not one, cares whether, you Teach, or no,
Their Hearts are as hard, as Iron too,
As tough, but not so cold.

13

When will (d'ye think) this Geer go trim
And e're, be brought to good?
Good faith! I think 'twill ne're begin:
What never? No! would it would!
They have so many conceits and whimseies
That one may scribble, untill he dimn's eyes,
Their souls are black as stocks, of Chimneyes
'Tis pitty by the Rood!

14

Troth! Queans would serve 'um well enough
When (once) to work they get 'um:
(One finding Tooles, and t'other Stuff)
And they their Task to set 'um:

115

Where (nak't, as Truth, they should work their fill,
And every Jack, should have his Gill,
And lay it on, take 't off who's will,
Good faith! Who would not let 'um?

15

And now w'have brought 'um in by Troopes,
To Girles oth' lewder sort,
We'le keep 'um close, as Cocks in Coops,
For the Trappanning sport
Nay now, we have 'um within their Carcase
We'le neither favour Earl or Marquess,
I've made this staff too short.

16

Now God a bless, our Noble Queen!
Who gives Examples many,
But men (as if they ne're had been)
Will not be rul'd by any:
Nay here's the thing mortality grieve would
That men should go to Hell, thick and three fold
To save them, I'de not set foot, o're threshold
They'le ne're be worth a penny.