University of Virginia Library

Ladies, I love you dearly,
And for a proof I send this letter;
To deal with you sincerely,
I dare not offer any better.
Many of your mammas
Would look upon it as a sin,
Because
They and their daughters are so near akin,
It would be wading both through thick and thin.
Time, the best tutor of all others,
Has open'd my deluded eyes;
I have made fools enow amongst your mothers,
I wish it was as easy to make you wise.
This, says Miss Notable, is positive grimace,
He thinks to rub the mould off an old face,
By being smart and sly;
Just as a housewife thinks you'll eat
Her fusty meat
When it is season'd in a pie.
Miss Notable, you are a Cynick,
And though in Greek it means a bitch,
I only mean you are a mimick,
When you set up to be a witch.
Can you imagine me so queer
An engineer
To think of making my advances
By fancies?
I know that an approach is made
Sideways and by insinuation;
I know my trade,
But not by a rhetorical
Or metaphorical
Or verbal disputation,
But by a real zig-zag operation.
I would as soon attempt to take a City
With sugar-plumbs
Instead of bombs,
As take a miss by being witty;
Or to take you,
When you're in cue
To romp and grapple,
Like Eve,
Taking you only by the sleeve,
And pulling out an apple.

A miss that's brought up in a boarding-school,
Or in a cloister,
Is like a stool,
And like an oister.
For though a bungler can't get at her,
An oister-monger who has thought on't well,
And understands the matter,
Contrives a way into the shell,
Like any Eel
Into a wheel,
Of wicker,
Gobbling the oister and the liquor.

The reason why she is like a stool, methinks
Is this;
(I do not mean a stool that stinks)
That never can be like a miss;
I mean a stool,
Not in the nature of a chair,
But a mere tool,
Placed in a corner here and there
With an intent,
Not to be useful—but for ornament;
Just like the image of a Chinese lubbard,
Sitting upon a chimney-piece or cupboard;
A joss
Sitting with its legs across.
Yet when a drawing room is full,
Or when a company draws near
That blessed sphere,
Where all are happy that are dull,
And they are taken up with some debater,
You clap you down slipping aside,
And so your stool is occupy'd
Sooner or later.
And so a miss that's thrown aside like lumber,
Although they watch her,
Will find occasions without number,
If any one's inclin'd to catch her.
When a man's saying all he has to say,
And something comes across the way,
Without a provocation,
I do not call it a digression,
But a temptation
Which requires discretion.
And therefore I petition
For leave to give a definition
Of the word Reputation;
'Tis an impression or a seal
Engrav'd, not upon steel,
On a transparent education,
Which, held up to the light,
Discovers all the strokes and touches
That mark the lady of a knight,
A mantua-maker, or a duchess.

A miss brought up in Fairy Courts,
Practis'd in sublunary sports,
And contemplations in the dark,
Is apt to be surprised
By a superior power disguised
Like an attorney's Clerk.
Oft in the darkest night, when every head
Is wrapp'd in sleep,
And free from cares,
He sallies from the deep,
Stealing up the back stairs,
And without dread
He'll creep
Upon you unawares
Into your bed.
A fairy is a cunning elf,
And seldom meditates a rape
In any shape
That you suspect yourself.
Sometimes in front he will appear,
Just like a barber's block;
And sometimes hang upon your rear,
Dress'd in your footman's frock.
When once you are enchanted,
You are commonly possess'd all night,
Like any house that's haunted,
And, like a haunted house, a priest must set you right.
And then, by reason of your tender age,
You are in no less danger
From Hamlet and Ranger,
The enchanters of the stage.
You are not open to so many snares,
From dancers, singers,
And fiddle-stringers,
As from players.
Players make love by letters patent,
All other artists are excluded,
But now and then it has so happen'd,
The Law has been eluded;
And by a trick of a logician,
No lawyer's whim,
For instance, if the artist's a musician,
You must convert the proposition;
That is, you must make love to him.
I do not mean, my dears,
To alarm you with my fears,
Though I could bring examples recent,
And make reflections,
To shew that such amours are neither decent,
Nor good for your complexions.
Let but a single spark of fire fall
Into a powder-magazine,
It blows up all,
Quite and clean.
So when you have finished a neat billet-doux,
All but the stopping,
And you're in raptures leaning,
A drop of ink, you know not how,
Comes dropping,
And blots out all the meaning.
If you delight in slops,
And will be always tasting and touching,
You may meet slops where a few drops
Will blot your scutcheon:
Your face breaks out in spots, or you're inflated
To a degree,
So as to be
Homunculated.
I quite forgot I was in such a trance
To give a hint,
Asquint,
About a country dance.
Dancing contributes greatly, 'tis confess'd,
To open and dilate your chest,
And is exceeding good
To purify the blood
And humours.
But if you sit too long, and cool too quick,
Your hand is seiz'd and you fall sick.
It feels as if it felt—all over—tumours,
Shaking, as if you shook a stick,
Tingling and numb,
Finger and thumb,
Paralitick.
If people would but stick to their professions,
You would be dancing,
Not sitting and romancing,
Like an old justice at a sessions.
Supposing now you have escaped all rocks,
Not without many shocks
Amongst the shoals of Calumny and Rancour,
Thank Heaven, you are not stranded;
Throw out your anchor,
And then do what you please when you are landed.
Sure I speak plain enough, you understand
That I would have you marry out of hand;
Whether you wed a coxcomb or a sloven,
By fair means or by covin.
Marriage resembles a perpetual oven.
Your chief expence and trouble's in the making,
Which need not be repeated,
Unless you are cheated,
From the first time you put a cake in.
For after that, without being heated,
It will continue fit for baking;
Constantly ready, night and day,
If you don't bake at home, your neighbour may.
Do but contemplate a pudding's end,
There is a string goes round about
Her snout.
The string is very much the pudding's friend,
He keeps her within bounds, or else she would be spoil'd,
And by his means she gets well boil'd.
Look at that spit again,
What is it keeps your meat from burning;
It is a chain
That humours it in turning;
And by that means, as you have often boasted,
Your meat is always nicely roasted.

Just such another tye is marriage;
I take the marriage-noose or wedding-ring,
If you are prudent in your carriage,
To be a pudding-string.
And for the marriage-chain, 'tis prov'd as clear as glass
To be but a jack-chain—a chain for a jack-ass.
'Tis all made out as fine as silk:
And now attend, my lovely lasses,
And I'll provide you all with asses.
—You shall not want for asses milk.

I wish a miss was like a leek,
Whose head is long
And strong,
Although the tail
Be frail
And weak.
Then would I tell you all I have to speak:
Conceal your feelings, and dissemble
Whether you resemble
The proud or meek.

Meekness and pride alike inflame desire,
A truth well known amongst the wenchers;
So oil or brandy, thrown into the fire,
Are neither of them quenchers.
Take that which suits you best, my gentle dames,
Either will do, to set a house in flames.
'Tis not sufficient to inflame;
You must provoke, but you must tame.
Observe the anglers,
They don't take every fish that comes;
So many of your danglers
Are but bull-heads and millers'-thumbs.
A captain, or some pretty fellow,
May dangle with you at a rout;
Just as they fish for salmon with a menow,
Or a red clout.
But when you walk with Strephon arm in arm,
And feel all over new-milk warm,
Whilst he complains of penalties and pains;
You'll seem
Like an iced cream
If you have any brains.

Adam was weary of a single life,
And seeing Eve bashful and nice,
He thought her fitter for a wife,
Than any beast in Paradise.

So when a 'squire sees a maiden coy,
He makes a jointure;
And in a fit of joy,
Prefers her to a pointer.
Milton's Delay , it is no word of my inventing,
Lies in a point,
If you can hit the joint,
Between forbidding and consenting.
Just like the cream of which you have been told,
Delicious, when 'tis not too cold.
All small delays are right,
They make folks keen,
Whether they mean
To play or fight.
So at a battle and a cocking,
The combatants, before they let them go,
Stand a little while and crow.
And when you throw the stocking,
After the bride and bridegroom's bedded;
The bride, encouraged by that pause,
Yields to the laws,
And is beheaded.