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

Demophoon was born in Holland, who took after his Father Theseus, pretending to the Art of Pyracy; he was cast upon Newcastle-Shore by adverse Winds (as the Dutch Commentators say) but we are inform'd he came hither by his own choice. No sooner arriv'd, but he heard that one Phillis, a single Woman, kept an Inn in the Town; There he took up his Quarters: Phillis observed him as a lusty Younker, and though his outward Habiliments were not very tempting; yet his person perswaded her so far, that she Married him, and entrusted him with all. After some time, he told his Wife that his Occasions call'd him into Holland to see his Father, who he said, was a Man of mighty Substance; He promised to Return within a Month, but hath not been heard of since. Therefore she writes to him this Letter; but whether it came to his hands or no, hath been a question to this day.

Your absence does discover your Disdain,
You've done enough to make a stone complain;

You told me you wou'd stay a Month,—no more;
But by my Nature I do find 'tis four.
I, who am Woman, and a Lover too,
Observe the change of Moons, much more than you:
Indisposition in the Head, or Back,
Informs our Sex beyond an Almanack.
Sometimes I hop'd—but soon that Hope did sink;
Sometimes I thought—I knew not what to think.
I made my—self a Liar—notwithstanding
There was no Ship—I swore I saw you Landing.
Some Curses on your Father I bestow,
That old Dutch Rogue, think I, won't let him go;
But then again, that cannot likely seem,
The Maggot bites—you're gone away from him;
What if you should be wrack't when hither bound?
No,—you're to great a Villian to be down'd.
Whom shall I blame? whom but thy self—fond Philly?
Who hast liv'd now Thirty years, and art so silly.

When first you did within my Doors set footing,
I fell in Love.—forsooth—A Pox of rutting;
The Devil sure will have that Doctor Hymen,
Who told me, that his business was to try—men.
He did believe—you'd prove an honest Man,
Marry'em said he, with all the speed you can;
The Good old Man his Substance to increase,
Would match a Helhound to a Saint for Fees:
You swore such dreadful Oaths as ne'r was heard,
By th' Belgick Lyon, and the Pirnce's Beard;
By Opdam's Ghost, and by the Dragon's Tail,
B' your Father's Head, and Mother's Farthingale;
By the great Cannons, and the Bloody Flag,
And by the Hogan Mogans of the Hague;
Your execrations put m'in such a fright,
That all the Hair about me stood upright:
If on your Head these Curses fall you've nam'd,
I must conclude, that certainly y'are damn'd;

Hearing such bloody Oaths, you would not stay,
I made all haste I could to get y'away;
I furnished you with all I cou'd afford,
Bisket and Powder'd Beef I put aboard;
A Flask of Brandy to your girdle hung,
Better I'm sure, was never tipt o're Tongue:
And when I pach'd your Sails with antient Smock,
I thought they wou'd have brought me home good luck;
But stead of that—such was my Fatal Hap,
I prov'd the Instrument of your Escape:
When you came hither in a low Condition,
Did I not stuff your Gut with good Provision:
The Suit y'had on—was destitute of stitches,
I gave you then my Brother's Coat and Breeches;
But as for that—Pox on't—I'll ne'r repent it,
What you had wanted, I had then presented;
If you had never paid—here's none would stop ye;
But I must be your Wife too—like a Puppy:

I wish to God that very day we met,
That into Gaol I had been thrown for Debt;
Then if I'd ask'd the Question—you'd have said
Thank you, forsooth, I'm not in haste to Wed.
Well, well! Myn Hier! y've caught me now 'tis true,
I hope I am the last you will undoe.
The Dutch by Paint describe each others Lives,
And draw their Neighbours Actions, and their Wives
They'l draw your Father as some petty Pirate,
Doing small things, which People wont admire at.
He has been Rogue enough, but done no Wonders'
'Has rob'd a Fisherman, of Eels and Flounders:
Perhaps he's Drawn making a Sailor drunk,
Diving in's Pockets—to equip his Punk;
These are but Trifles to what you have done,
The Father's but a Coxcomb—to the Son:
You shall be Drawn, first in your tatter'd Cloaths,
Humbly complaining, full of Lies and Oaths;

And then you shall be Rigg'd from head to foot,
And from your Mouth, this Label shall come out;
“Poor Phillis, of Newcastle upon Tyne—
“'Twas I that ruin'd—now you see, I'm fine.
What must I do? I have not Trading here,
And all my Neighbours do but laugh and fleer;
One cryes, Where is your Husband Demo—foe?
For your right Name, not one of'em does know;
Another cryes out—Hey! for Amsterdam;
What! Was'a Dutchman Phillis—or a Sham?
Thus (as they say) they throw you in my Dish;
Wou'd I cou'd have you here but with a wish,
For these Rogues sake; 'twould be good sport to see
How well you wou'd belabour two or three;
Then they'd change Tone, and cry—God bless ye both,
You are a handsom Couple, by my Troth:
No—'tis in vain to hope that you'l return,
I must continue, as I am their scorn;

But yet I can't forget the parting Day,
I thought you wou'd have hugg'd your Breath away
At last you spoke—'twas this confounded Lye,
Phil, in a Month this o're again we'll try;
But I believe that trick you're trying now
With some run-belly'd Rotterdam—U'froe:
If Phillis shou'd be talk'd on by the Dutch,
You'l say you never heard of any such.
Phillis! Who's she? Where does this Phillis dwell?
If you don't know, Demophoon, I'll tell;
“This is Newcastle-Phillis, she that did
“Once entertain you, Sir, at Board and Bed.
“Some small Remembrance Phillis hath deserv'd,
“Had not this Phillis been, you might have starv'd
“She gave you Money, like a foolish Elf;
“At last this Phillis gave away her—Self.
I am that Phillis, if I had my due,
That shou'd have Hang'd my self for Loving you:

It will not be too late to do it still,
And if I'm in a humour, 'faith I will.
Then on my Grave let these few lines be writ,
Which Phillis made her-self in Moody fit.
Here Phillis lyes,
Had she been wise,
S'had Wed a Neighb'ring Scotchman;
And then she might,
Have liv'd in spite
Of any Drunken Dutchman.