University of Virginia Library

On the suppos'd Authour of a late Poem in defence of Satyr.

To rack, and torture thy unmeaning Brain,
In Satyrs praise, to a low untun'd strain,
In thee was most impertinent and vain.
When in thy Person, we more clearly see,
That Satyr's of Divine Authority,
For God, made one on Man, when he made thee.
To shew there are some Men, as there are Apes,
Fram'd for meer sport, who differ but in shapes:
In thee are all those contradictions joyn'd,
That make an Asse, prodigious and refin'd.
A lump deform'd, and shapeless wert thou born,
Begot in Loves despight, and Natures scorn;
And art grown up, the most ungraceful Wight,
Harsh to the Ear, and hideous to the sight,
Yet Love's thy bus'ness, Beauty thy delight.
Curse on that silly hour, that first inspir'd,
Thy madness, to pretend to be admir'd;
To paint thy grizly Face, to dance, to dress,
And all those Awkward Follies that express,
Thy loathsome Love, and filthy daintiness.
Who needs will be an Ugly Beau-Garcon,
Spit at, and shun'd, by ev'ry Girl in Town;
Where dreadfully Loves Scare-Crow, thou art plac'd
To fright the tender Flock, that long to taste:
While ev'ry coming Maid, when you appear,
Starts back for shame, and strait turns chaste for fear.
For none so poor, or Prostitute have prov'd,
Where you made love, t'endure to be belov'd.
'Twere labour lost, or else I wou'd advise.
But thy half Wit, will ne're let thee be wise.
Half-witty, and half-mad, and scarce half-brave,
Half-honest (which is very much a Knave.)
Made up of all these Halfs, thou can'st not pass,
For any thing intirely, but an Asse.