The Works of Capt. Alex. Radcliffe :: :: University of Virginia Library

Hellen having receiv'd his Letter, at first seems wonderfully displeas'd at his Impudence, in attempting a Lady of her unspotted fame; who was bred and born in the Town where she liv'd, and was never call'd Whore. At length the Storm's over, and she Tacks about, giving him an assurance of her readiness to comply, but doubts her Gallent wo'not be constant. In plain English She's as willing as He.

Your Letter's wrot in such a filthy stile,
I did not think an answer worth my while,
Till I considere'd you might offer vi'lence,
And take advantage of a Woman's silence.
I'm sure you have not wanted drink or food,
I wonder in my heart you'll be so rude.

120

'Tis fine y'faith—because you come from London,
You think a Country Body must be run down.
You of your Entertainment here may brag,
You were not us'd as if you'd had the Plague.
My Husband did receive you as a Friend,
And wou'd you to his Wife now prove a Fiend?
Perhaps you'll say of me, when you are gone,
Hellen! a Lady!—Hellen's but a clown.
I'll one the name, since you can say no more,
I'd rather be a Clown, then call'd a Whore:
Yet for all that, though I keep Cows and Daries,
I can behave my self as well as Paris.
Tho' I don't fleer like a young wanton Girle,
Yet you shall seldom see me frown or snarle.
Tho' you such breeding, and such manners own,
Let me deal plainly w'ye—I think you've none.
Or could you else believe me so untrue,
To leave my Spouse and run away with you?

121

Because a Fellow once did pick me up,
You think I'm to be stoln by every Fop.
He knew not whether I was Man or Woman,
But you conclude from thence that I am common.
When he perceiv'd that I was none of those,
He very fairly brought me to my house.
And since I'm gotten quit of Master Theseus,
Our Paris wou'd be nibbling too, God bless us!
Though by my Trooth I cannot blame your Love,
If I were sure that you wou'd constant prove,
Dy'e think I should not be in dainty pickle,
If I should run away with one that's fickle?
You urg'd to me th' example of my Mother,
As if the Daughter shou'd be such another.
You don't consider Læda, was betray'd,
By one that courted her in Masquerade.
She thought sh'ad met a harmless plum of feather,
But at long-run he prov'd a Stallion rather.

122

His Famili's the best in all the County,
All that you live by's but a Tradsman's bounty.
But that's all one, whereever love prevails,
Money's no more than pairing of my Nails.
Sometimes I think you love me when you look
With Eyes unmov'd, just like a Pig that's stuck.
And dabble with your fingers in my Palm,
And use to call the moisture of it,—Balm.
If in the Glass I leave a little drop,
You'd say I'll drink your snuffs—and suck it up.
Hellen you carv'd with Penkife on the Gate,
And I wrot Paris just a top of that.
These are shrewd signs of Love, and without doubt,
You'd give a Leg or Arm to have a Bout.
Tho' you are not the first Man by a hundred,
That has seen me, and lov'd and gaz'd and wondred.
If you at first had come into our Town,
And courted Hellen in a Grogram Gown,

123

When I was but a silly Soul, God knows,
You might have made a Bridge of Menel's Nose.
Now he commands in chief your Suit is vain,
To all true Lovers Marriage is a Bane.
But why should Paris for a Mistress long,
Since in your Sleep your Fancy is so strong?
You can see three stark naked at a time,
And take your choice of Beauty's in a dream:
Yet you left Honour, Wealth, and God knows what.
And all for me—a pretty fancy that.
I know 'tis wheedle,—but if all were true,
It is no more than I would do for you.
You guess my want of Skill, by being so plain,
For I'am not us'd to write to any Man,
Except t'a Millener, (my Husband's Cozen)
Who sends me Gloves,—and Ribbands by the dozen.
Well—since it must be so—let's be discreet,
Let not our Town take notice that we meet;

124

For they suspect already you're a Wencher,
There is not such a place on Earth for Censure
Yet I can't see, why we should be so nice,
I like you—by my Husband's own advice.
I cou'd not chuse but laugh to hear him say,
Pray Love your Guest when I am gone away:
And all the while that Menelaus tarries.
You are committed to the charge of Paris.
The charge! Let us examine well the word,
Whether he meant your charge at Bed and Board;
Why should he not mean both as well as one?
He knows—how much I hate to lye alone.
In my weak Judgment, 'tis an easie Case,
You are in all things to supply his place.
But for the Mastership you're like to tug
Before you have me at the closest hug.
'Twill seem to me, if you some force do use,
As if I had a Maidenhead to lose.

125

Lord! how I write; if I were to be damn'd,
I cou'd not say't—I should be so asham'd.
If I consent I'll hold you any Money,
You'll serve me as you did you'r dear Oenone.
She hop'd she should be wedded in the Church,
Instead of that you left her in the Lurch.
But if we now were toward London jogging,
'Tis ten to one some Puppy would be dogging,
Or else some Neighbour on the Read wou'd stay us,
And ask me after Mr. Menelaus.
Or we shall hear the Country-people say,
Would you believe that she should run-away?
Marry not hansome Wives by this Example,
Since pretty Mistress Hellen's on the Ramble
I'm strangly afraid of seeing Mr. Priam,
How I shall tremble when he asks whom I—am.
Tho' for my Life I shall not hold from Laughter,
If Hecuba, should say Your Servant, Daughter

126

But above All 'tis Hector that I dread,
That Hector certainly will break my Head.
Who'd think you two from the same Mother came,
He's like a Lyon, you are like a Lamb.
Let Hector proser with his senseless huffing,
'Tis knowing nothing now that makes a Ruffian.
While Paris shall be skill'd in Lovers Arts,
And dive into our Sexes secret Parts;
Now you begin to think 'tis ten to one,
Your Suit is granted, and the Bus'ness done.
But not so fast,—consult my Friend Clymene,
No doubt—you'l make the Bus'ness up between ye
I'm loath to say't my self, she knows my mind,
And she can tell you how I am enclin'd.
When she informs you what must be transacted,
With too much Joy, I fear, you'l run distracted.