University of Virginia Library

The Downfal of the French Bitch, England's Metropolitan Strumpet, The three Nation's Grievance, The pickled pocky Whore, Rowley's Dalilah; all in a word, The damn'd dirty Dutchess.

What! down in the Dirt? By St. Leonard her Grace
Stinks vilely I'll warrant: That ominous place
Works upward and downward, has giv'n her a Glister,
To find her self tumble just over her Sister.
Make haste to Newmarket to air the French Tool,
If Rowley should smell her, 'twould give him a Stool.
The Wench of St. Martins who gave us the Clap,
Or Nelly, drawn in Kennel, as 'twas her Mishap,
Or the thing that beshit us having got the wild squirt,
Was nothing so noisom as Dutchess i'th' Dirt.
Then faugh! Carwel, faugh! for a stinking French Bitch;
Jane Shore was more wholesom when dead in a Ditch.
How came the Mischance, if it was one, let's know?
Had the spoil of the Land o'erballanc'd her so,
That she sunk by the Weight her Whoredom had gotten
To be her support now her Carcase is rotten?
Never Whore so mistaken! Faith, Rowley, her Grace
Is lame on all four, not fit for the Race.
Let Shoreditch be famous for the Fall and the Foil
It has given two Whores, who sunk in its Soil.
Had the last but lain by it as long as the first,
It had eas'd three Nations that in her are curs'd.
Howe'er we all thank you, you did your Endeavour,
To have laid her as fast, and unwilling to leave her.
The Men of Art tell us the Stars do portend,
That her Fall in that place presages her End:
As Rowley grows stiff, and can leap her no more,
She'll rot in a Ditch as her Sister Jane Shore.
Pray Heaven it prove so! then Gadbury shall,
If he guess right in this, be pardon'd for all.