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

Sapho was a Lady very Eminent for Singing of Ballads, and upon an a extraordinary Pinch, could make one well enough for her Purpose: She held a League with one Phaon, who was her Companion and Partner in the Chorus; but Phaon deserted his Consert for the Preferment of a Rubber in the Ba'nnio. Sapho took this so to heart, that she threatens to break her Neck out of a Garret Window; which if effected, might prove her utter Destruction. Authors have not agreed concerning the execution of her Design: But however she Writes him this loving and terrifying Epistle.

When these my doggrel Rhimes you chance to see,
You hardly will believe they came from me,
Till you discover Sapho's Name at bottom,
You'l not imagine who it is that wrote 'em:

I, that have often Sung—Young Phaon strove,
Now Sing this doleful Tune—Farewel my Love;
I must not Sing new Jiggs—the more's the Pity,
But must take up with some old Mournful Ditty.
You in the Bannio have a place, I hear;
I in my Garret Sweat as much, with Fear:
You can rub out a Living well enough,
My Rent's unpaid, poor Sapho must rub off;
My Voice is crack't, and now I only houl,
And cannot hit a Treble for my Soul:
My Ballads lye neglected on a Shelf,
I cannot bear the Burthen by my self;
Doll Price the Hawker offers very fair,
She'l Sing along with me for Quarter-share;
Sue Smith, the very same will undertake,
Their Voice is like the winding of a Jack.
Hang'em, I long to bear a Part with you,
I love to Sing, and look upon you too;

Besides, you know when Songs grow out of fashion,
That I can make a Ballad on occasion.
I'am not very Beautiful,—God knows;
Yet you should value one that can Compose:
Despise me not, though I'm a little Dowdy,
I can do that—same—like a bigger Body:
Perhaps you'l say I've but a tawny Skin;
What then? you know my Metal's good within.
What if my Shoulder's higher then my Head?
I've heard you say I'm Shape enough a-Bed:
The Mayor (God bless him) or the worthy Sheriffs
Do very often meet with homely Wives.
Our Master too; that little scrubbed Draper,
Has he not got a Lady that's a Strapper?
If you will have a Beauty, or have none,
Phaon must lye—Phaon must lye alone:
I can remember, 'fore my Voice was broke,
How much in praise of me you often spoke,

And when I shook a Trill, you shook your Ears,
And swore I Sung like, what d'ee call'em—Spheres;
You kiss'd me hard, and call'd me Charming witch,
I can't do't now, if you wou'd kiss my Breach.
Then you not only lik'd my airy Voice,
But in my Fleshly part you did Rejoice;
And when you clasp'd me in your brawny clutches,
You swore I mov'd my Body like a Dutches;
You clap'd my Buttocks, o're and o're agen,
I can't believe that I was crooked then.
Beware of him you Sisters of the quill,
That Sing at Smithfield-Bars, or Saffron-Hill,
Who, for an honest Living, tear your Throat;
If Phaon drinks w'ye you're not worth a groat:
And Ladies know, 'twill be a very hard thing
To sink from him the smallest Copper-farthing;
Avoid him all—for he has us'd me so,
Wou'd make your hearts ake, if you did but know,

My Hair's about my Ears, as I'm a Sinner,
He has not left me worth a Hood or Pinner.
Phaon by me unworthily has dealt,
Has got my Ring,—though 'twas but Copper gilt;
Yet that vexes me,—Th' ungrateful Pimp
Has stole away my Peticoat with Gimp;
Has all my Things, but had he left me any
I can't go out alone to get a Penny
Phaon I should have had less cause to grieve,
If like a Man of Sence, you'd taken leave:
That you'd be gone, had I been ne'r so certain,
We might have drank a Pot or two at parting;
Or fry'd some Bacon with an Egg; or if
Into some Steaks, we'd cut a pound of Beef,
And laugh'd a while, that had been something like
But to steal off, was but a sneaking Trick.
My Landlady can tell, how I was troubled,
When I perceiv'd my self so plainly bubbled:

I ran like mad out at the Alley-Gate
To overtake you but it was too late:
When I consider'd I had lost my Coat,
If I had a Knife I'd cut my Throat;
Yet notwithstanding all the ills you did,
I Dream of you as soon as I'm in Bed;
You tickle me, and cry, Do'st like it Saff?
Oh wonderous well! and then methinks I laugh.
Sometimes we mingle Legs, and Arms, and Thighs;
Sometimes between the sheets, methinks does rise:
But when I wake and find my Dream's in vain,
I turn to sleep only to Dream again.
When I am up, I walk about my Garret
And talk I know not what—just like a Parrot:
I move about the Room from Bed to Chair,
And have no Satifactoin any where.
The last time I remember you lay here,
We both were dry ith' Night, and went for Beer;

Into the Cellar by good luck we got,
What we did there, I'm sure you ha'n't forgot:
There stands, you know, an antiquated Tub,
'Gainst which, since that, I often stand and rub;
Only to see't, as much delight I take
As if the Vessel now were full of Sack;
But more to add unto my Discontent,
There's been no Drink ith' Celler since you went.
There's nothing but affords me Misery,
My Linet in the Cage, I fear will dye:
The Bird is just like me in every thing;
Like me it pines Like me it cannot Sing.
Now Phaon, pray take notice what I say,
If you don't bring the things you took away;
You know my Garret is four Stories high;
From thence I'll leap, and in the Streets I'll die:
May be you will refuse to come—Do—do,
Y' had best let Sapho break her Neck for you.

Your afflicted Consort, Sapho.