A new collection of Original poems Never Printed in any miscellany. By the Author of Sir Walter Raleigh [i.e. George Sewell] |
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| A DEFENCE of WOMEN;
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 | A new collection of Original poems |  |
16
A DEFENCE of WOMEN;
OF THE Proclamation of CUPID: A POEM from Chaucer.
To the LADIES.
To
You, bright British Fair, whom she defends,
The Muse her undesigning Verse commends:
Smile, while she makes old Chaucer plead your Cause;
It is no Crime to give the Dead Applause,
For never Man, nor even Woman yet
Made lewd Constructions on a buried Wit.
If Graves and Tombstones don't offend your Ears,
He has been shrowded—full three hundred Years;
And now returns to shame this graceless Age,
Who Libel Woman from the Press, and Stage:
Fools, with ill Faces, and ill Manners too,
Who wild and rough like ancient Satyrs wooe;
And when they by their Fate, or Folly fail,
Fly to the Loser's Privilege,—and Rail.
The Muse her undesigning Verse commends:
Smile, while she makes old Chaucer plead your Cause;
It is no Crime to give the Dead Applause,
17
Made lewd Constructions on a buried Wit.
If Graves and Tombstones don't offend your Ears,
He has been shrowded—full three hundred Years;
And now returns to shame this graceless Age,
Who Libel Woman from the Press, and Stage:
Fools, with ill Faces, and ill Manners too,
Who wild and rough like ancient Satyrs wooe;
And when they by their Fate, or Folly fail,
Fly to the Loser's Privilege,—and Rail.
Our Bard, who if from Picture we may trace,
Had Strength, and Vigour, and an English Face,
Scorn'd the Design of Nature's Gifts to spoil,
And damn his comely Person by his Style.
He knew, whate'er might be his secret Thoughts,
The Sex too well, to tell them half their Faults,
Not that he flatter'd them, and gave Pretence
To those he courted, to suspect his Sense.
Women to those an equal Scorn have shown,
Who grant them all Things, or allow them none.
Hence Fops, whom Nature made to grin, and give,
The Sexes Bubbles, and Aversion live;
And Wits of nicer parts with Over-Care,
Seeking a Perfect One, lose all the Fair.
Had Strength, and Vigour, and an English Face,
Scorn'd the Design of Nature's Gifts to spoil,
And damn his comely Person by his Style.
He knew, whate'er might be his secret Thoughts,
The Sex too well, to tell them half their Faults,
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To those he courted, to suspect his Sense.
Women to those an equal Scorn have shown,
Who grant them all Things, or allow them none.
Hence Fops, whom Nature made to grin, and give,
The Sexes Bubbles, and Aversion live;
And Wits of nicer parts with Over-Care,
Seeking a Perfect One, lose all the Fair.
Chaucer, who shuns the Folly of Extremes,
With Wit and Truth records these common Themes;
Not wholly to the Fair devotes his Pen,
But wisely turns the Satyr on the Men:
Their Arts, their Stratagems at large displays,
And telling them, gives Women silent Praise.
He nor too much extols the Sex, nor blames,
(For surely there have been some guilty Dames)
But gilds their Weakness with an artful Touch,
For fulsom Panegyrick is too much.
See! how he pities where he can't defend,
The granting Mistress, and deceitful Friend:
Alas! He knew the Torrent of Desire,
When the Nerves tremble, and the Eyes shake Fire.
With Wit and Truth records these common Themes;
Not wholly to the Fair devotes his Pen,
But wisely turns the Satyr on the Men:
Their Arts, their Stratagems at large displays,
And telling them, gives Women silent Praise.
He nor too much extols the Sex, nor blames,
(For surely there have been some guilty Dames)
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For fulsom Panegyrick is too much.
See! how he pities where he can't defend,
The granting Mistress, and deceitful Friend:
Alas! He knew the Torrent of Desire,
When the Nerves tremble, and the Eyes shake Fire.
But I offend—let Chaucer's Muse advise;
The Nymph is safe who on the Bard relies:
For in the mighty Calendar of Love,
Many are Confessors, Few Martyrs prove.
The Nymph is safe who on the Bard relies:
For in the mighty Calendar of Love,
Many are Confessors, Few Martyrs prove.
23
THE PROCLAMATION OF CUPID.
We
Cupid, King, whose arbitrary Sway
Our Kindred Deities on high obey,
Whose Pow'r invades the deep infernal Coasts,
Awes the grim King, and all the bloodless Ghosts,
Whose Shrines the busie World for ever grace
With Vot'ries num'rous, as their Mortal Race,
To all who to our Altars duely bend,
We, Cytherea's Son, our self commend,
And to our Subjects hearty Greetings send.
Our Kindred Deities on high obey,
Whose Pow'r invades the deep infernal Coasts,
Awes the grim King, and all the bloodless Ghosts,
Whose Shrines the busie World for ever grace
With Vot'ries num'rous, as their Mortal Race,
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We, Cytherea's Son, our self commend,
And to our Subjects hearty Greetings send.
Be it to all, and every Person known,
That high Complaints are offer'd to our Throne;
The Female Sex in gen'ral send their Grief,
Ask our Assistance, and demand Relief.
Their smooth Petitions in a moving Strain,
Of Man's Ingratitude, and Guilt, complain:
In one Part Lyes and Perjuries abound,
Here Censures blacken, and there Satyrs wound.
Nor is there one of all the softer Tribe
Whose Hand or Mark does not her Grief subscribe;
For at the bottom of the Page I find
By Matron, Spinster, Duchess, Cookmaid—Sign'd.
That high Complaints are offer'd to our Throne;
The Female Sex in gen'ral send their Grief,
Ask our Assistance, and demand Relief.
Their smooth Petitions in a moving Strain,
Of Man's Ingratitude, and Guilt, complain:
In one Part Lyes and Perjuries abound,
Here Censures blacken, and there Satyrs wound.
Nor is there one of all the softer Tribe
Whose Hand or Mark does not her Grief subscribe;
For at the bottom of the Page I find
By Matron, Spinster, Duchess, Cookmaid—Sign'd.
25
But no Complaints so much affect our Rest,
And with Compassion touch our Royal Breast,
As those which from a little Island came
Of our Dominions, which they BRITAIN name.
They say, that there the rank infected Soil
Shoots up in Harvests of successful Guile;
That Men so perfect play the subtle Part,
And honest Nature's so disguis'd by Art,
That their Breasts tremble with dissembl'd Sighs,
And Tears suborn'd seem starting from their Eyes.
Thus their feign'd Woes the kind Believer wound,
While no true Sorrow at the Heart is found.
And with Compassion touch our Royal Breast,
As those which from a little Island came
Of our Dominions, which they BRITAIN name.
They say, that there the rank infected Soil
Shoots up in Harvests of successful Guile;
That Men so perfect play the subtle Part,
And honest Nature's so disguis'd by Art,
That their Breasts tremble with dissembl'd Sighs,
And Tears suborn'd seem starting from their Eyes.
Thus their feign'd Woes the kind Believer wound,
While no true Sorrow at the Heart is found.
There pale and wan the Lover's Looks appear,
All full of humble Hope, and awful Fear,
Their Speech with winning Eloquence ensnares,
Soften'd with Vows, and Sanctify'd with Pray'rs.
They cry, their Suff'rings are too great to bear,
And if unheeded by the Cruel Fair,
They talk of dying on the Spot they stand,
Of the sharp Knife, and executing Hand.
All full of humble Hope, and awful Fear,
Their Speech with winning Eloquence ensnares,
Soften'd with Vows, and Sanctify'd with Pray'rs.
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And if unheeded by the Cruel Fair,
They talk of dying on the Spot they stand,
Of the sharp Knife, and executing Hand.
“Ah Lady mine, (the rapt'rous Lover cries,)
“Here by thy self I swear, by those bright Eyes,
“That from this Moment to the parting Grave
“I am thy humblest, thy sincerest Slave.
“Nor think this Slave can so ungen'rous prove
“As to divulge the Secret of thy Love;
“Sooner thy self shall tell thy own Disgrace,
“And strive to blast the Beauties of thy Face,
“Than my false Tongue against my Heart rebel,
“Or seize me Furies! and confound me Hell!
“Here by thy self I swear, by those bright Eyes,
“That from this Moment to the parting Grave
“I am thy humblest, thy sincerest Slave.
“Nor think this Slave can so ungen'rous prove
“As to divulge the Secret of thy Love;
“Sooner thy self shall tell thy own Disgrace,
“And strive to blast the Beauties of thy Face,
“Than my false Tongue against my Heart rebel,
“Or seize me Furies! and confound me Hell!
Full hard it is to search the secret Part,
And pierce the cover'd Foldings of the Heart.
Words sooth our Ear, and Persons please our Eye,
But none the Truth can by Appearance try.
Thus faithful Woman, innocently free,
Suspects no Falshood, where she none can see;
Led by fair Shows she hastens to her Fate,
Too soon believes them, and repents too late.
These said Degrees the Fair Ones often prove,
They pity first, and Pity kindles Love:
Fearful that Man to fierce Extreams may drive,
To stop his Ruin, they their own contrive,
To him resign their Love, their Fame, their All,
And give the Gift they never can recall.
And pierce the cover'd Foldings of the Heart.
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But none the Truth can by Appearance try.
Thus faithful Woman, innocently free,
Suspects no Falshood, where she none can see;
Led by fair Shows she hastens to her Fate,
Too soon believes them, and repents too late.
These said Degrees the Fair Ones often prove,
They pity first, and Pity kindles Love:
Fearful that Man to fierce Extreams may drive,
To stop his Ruin, they their own contrive,
To him resign their Love, their Fame, their All,
And give the Gift they never can recall.
But when the Wretch, in frequent Joys carest,
Discerns his Conquest o'er the weaker Breast;
If in the Circle of his Range he sees
Another Face that better seems to please;
He then no more his past Resolves allows,
Forswears his Promises, recants his Vows;
To his new Idol with fierce Passion cleaves,
Again is perjur'd, and again deceives.
And now, since None's so bad but he may find
Some Friend or dark Companion of his Kind,
Soon as the Traitor quits the mournful Dame,
He boasts the Triumph of her Murder'd Fame.
Thus uncontented with a private Wrong,
He spreads his Baseness with a busie Tongue,
'Till o'er the Town the growing Scandal flies,
The Jest of Fools, and Sorrow of the Wise.
Discerns his Conquest o'er the weaker Breast;
If in the Circle of his Range he sees
Another Face that better seems to please;
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Forswears his Promises, recants his Vows;
To his new Idol with fierce Passion cleaves,
Again is perjur'd, and again deceives.
And now, since None's so bad but he may find
Some Friend or dark Companion of his Kind,
Soon as the Traitor quits the mournful Dame,
He boasts the Triumph of her Murder'd Fame.
Thus uncontented with a private Wrong,
He spreads his Baseness with a busie Tongue,
'Till o'er the Town the growing Scandal flies,
The Jest of Fools, and Sorrow of the Wise.
Is this Man's Honour, this his boasted Pride,
To publish that which Honour bids him hide?
Thus does he all the Sexes Love repay,
Seduce them first, then, doubly false, betray?
Fool! who reflects not that he stains with Shame
At once his own, and the fair Suff'rer's Name.
And yet not her's—To Her we justly owe
All tender Thoughts that can from Pity flow.
Soft to Persuasion, and to Falshood blind,
She only to the cruel Part preferr'd the kind.
But he who spoke so fair, and basely thought;
His be the Shame, as it in Reason ought.
But she deserves our Gratitude and Praise,
Who in these evil, and uncourteous Days,
Free of her Store, and bounteous in Relief,
Thro' too much Charity preferr'd a Thief.
To publish that which Honour bids him hide?
Thus does he all the Sexes Love repay,
Seduce them first, then, doubly false, betray?
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At once his own, and the fair Suff'rer's Name.
And yet not her's—To Her we justly owe
All tender Thoughts that can from Pity flow.
Soft to Persuasion, and to Falshood blind,
She only to the cruel Part preferr'd the kind.
But he who spoke so fair, and basely thought;
His be the Shame, as it in Reason ought.
But she deserves our Gratitude and Praise,
Who in these evil, and uncourteous Days,
Free of her Store, and bounteous in Relief,
Thro' too much Charity preferr'd a Thief.
Yet more Excuses for the Sex succeed,
(And who refuses for the Fair to plead?)
Since Man is form'd with strong superiour Parts,
By Nature subtle, and improv'd by Arts,
No wonder if, with all these Gifts endu'd,
Poor, easie, harmless Woman is subdu'd.
Who has not heard how ancient Troy was won,
And a whole Empire by a Man undone?
In vain beleager'd ten long tedious Years,
She fell a Prey to guileful Sinon's Tears.
All Scenes of Ill in Traitor Man are wrought,
And States and Nations ruin'd at a Thought.
The Politician spins so fine a Thread,
That Princes think they lead, when they are led;
Well-pleas'd they slumber o'er the fancied Scheme,
And wake in Ruin from the Golden Dream.
What knowing Judgment, or what piercing Eye,
Can this Mysterious Maze of Falshood try?
Intriguing Man, of a suspicious Mind,
Man only knows the Cunning of his Kind,
With equal Wit can counterwork his Foes,
And Art with Art, and Fraud with Fraud oppose.
Then heed, ye Fair, e'er you their Cunning prove,
And think of Treach'ry, while they talk of Love.
(And who refuses for the Fair to plead?)
Since Man is form'd with strong superiour Parts,
By Nature subtle, and improv'd by Arts,
30
Poor, easie, harmless Woman is subdu'd.
Who has not heard how ancient Troy was won,
And a whole Empire by a Man undone?
In vain beleager'd ten long tedious Years,
She fell a Prey to guileful Sinon's Tears.
All Scenes of Ill in Traitor Man are wrought,
And States and Nations ruin'd at a Thought.
The Politician spins so fine a Thread,
That Princes think they lead, when they are led;
Well-pleas'd they slumber o'er the fancied Scheme,
And wake in Ruin from the Golden Dream.
What knowing Judgment, or what piercing Eye,
Can this Mysterious Maze of Falshood try?
Intriguing Man, of a suspicious Mind,
Man only knows the Cunning of his Kind,
With equal Wit can counterwork his Foes,
And Art with Art, and Fraud with Fraud oppose.
31
And think of Treach'ry, while they talk of Love.
A thousand Tricks as yet remain untold,
Which faithless Men as useful Maxims hold.
One Gallant, when the common Methods fail,
Nor Arguments, nor Vows, nor Oaths prevail,
Commits his Purpose to a trusty Spy,
To watch her Actions with a careful Eye,
To find her Byas, and to trace her Haunts,
Then bribe her Appetites, or press her Wants.
Ah! little think the Fair what various Ways
Perfidious Man their weaker Sex betrays.
Which faithless Men as useful Maxims hold.
One Gallant, when the common Methods fail,
Nor Arguments, nor Vows, nor Oaths prevail,
Commits his Purpose to a trusty Spy,
To watch her Actions with a careful Eye,
To find her Byas, and to trace her Haunts,
Then bribe her Appetites, or press her Wants.
Ah! little think the Fair what various Ways
Perfidious Man their weaker Sex betrays.
Another Wretch unto his Fellow cries,
“Thou fishest fair, and happy is thy Prize;
“For She, whose Beauty now subdues thy Mind,
“Is faithless, false, inconstant as the Wind;
“A Hackney-Jade, that plies about for Fare,
“Her Arms as common as a Barber's Chair;
“Then speed thee fast, and ride thy Journey on,
“Another comes as soon as thou art gone;
“And then a third: for She's so lib'ral grown,
“She lends her Carcase but to half the Town.
“Nor minds She whom, but shuns superior Charms,
“And languishes in dirty Porter's Arms;
“Forces an Appetite to nauseous Vice,
“And buys Damnation at a double Price.
“Nor vainly think that her alone I blame,
“Believe me, Sir, the Sex are all the same.
“There's hardly One of all that cursed Kind,
“But changes twenty times a Day her Mind:
“And would her Man, could She as many find.
“Thou fishest fair, and happy is thy Prize;
“For She, whose Beauty now subdues thy Mind,
“Is faithless, false, inconstant as the Wind;
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“Her Arms as common as a Barber's Chair;
“Then speed thee fast, and ride thy Journey on,
“Another comes as soon as thou art gone;
“And then a third: for She's so lib'ral grown,
“She lends her Carcase but to half the Town.
“Nor minds She whom, but shuns superior Charms,
“And languishes in dirty Porter's Arms;
“Forces an Appetite to nauseous Vice,
“And buys Damnation at a double Price.
“Nor vainly think that her alone I blame,
“Believe me, Sir, the Sex are all the same.
“There's hardly One of all that cursed Kind,
“But changes twenty times a Day her Mind:
“And would her Man, could She as many find.
The preaching Fool with Disappointments vext,
Thus rails at large, and riots on the Text.
Malice through all his poor Disguise is seen,
Since publick Satyr is but private Spleen.
For whence proceeds this Bitterness of Tongue,
But from Resentment of a secret Wrong?
When he who lov'd, despairing of Success,
Envies the Beauty which he can't possess;
With Grief he looks on all his Passion cost,
On Oaths, and Pray'rs, and Equipages lost:
On Confessors seduc'd by holy Gain,
And Chamber-Maids and Saints address'd in vain.
Hopeless to win, and scorning now to court,
To downright Scandal is his last Resort.
“Women, he cries, are sick of one Disease,
“And the same Med'cine all the Sex will ease:
“Take but the Time, and some Love-Story tell,
“Talk to their Vanity, and flatter well,
“Repeat the same again, and look, and sigh,
“And they'll say nothing, rather than deny.
“Then who would such an easie Conquest wait,
“Or purchase Pleasure at so cheap a Rate?
“Who for the Sex one Moment's Pain endure,
“I recommend a Mad-House for their Cure.
Thus rails at large, and riots on the Text.
33
Since publick Satyr is but private Spleen.
For whence proceeds this Bitterness of Tongue,
But from Resentment of a secret Wrong?
When he who lov'd, despairing of Success,
Envies the Beauty which he can't possess;
With Grief he looks on all his Passion cost,
On Oaths, and Pray'rs, and Equipages lost:
On Confessors seduc'd by holy Gain,
And Chamber-Maids and Saints address'd in vain.
Hopeless to win, and scorning now to court,
To downright Scandal is his last Resort.
“Women, he cries, are sick of one Disease,
“And the same Med'cine all the Sex will ease:
“Take but the Time, and some Love-Story tell,
“Talk to their Vanity, and flatter well,
“Repeat the same again, and look, and sigh,
“And they'll say nothing, rather than deny.
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“Or purchase Pleasure at so cheap a Rate?
“Who for the Sex one Moment's Pain endure,
“I recommend a Mad-House for their Cure.
This Scandal sure but ill becomes their Kind,
And shews a peevish Impotence of Mind;
Slander in all Degrees is Baseness thought,
But to a Woman is a double Fault:
Man stands oblig'd to arm in their Defence,
From Nature, Custom, and the Rules of Sense;
Nor holds he Right by any other Claim,
To gen'rous Breeding, and to Honour's Name.
But Slander will the fairest Fame disgrace,
Will cancel Titles, and the Blood debase;
No Vice so bad as Levity of Tongue;
He that talks much is often in the Wrong.
The Tongue of Man no Pow'rs of Art can tye,
It moves so swiftly, and it mounts so high;
And Reason follows with so slow a Pace,
She soon is lost and distanc'd in the Race.
From hence is all that Vanity of Speech,
Which Boys are fond of, and which Madmen teach.
And shews a peevish Impotence of Mind;
Slander in all Degrees is Baseness thought,
But to a Woman is a double Fault:
Man stands oblig'd to arm in their Defence,
From Nature, Custom, and the Rules of Sense;
Nor holds he Right by any other Claim,
To gen'rous Breeding, and to Honour's Name.
But Slander will the fairest Fame disgrace,
Will cancel Titles, and the Blood debase;
No Vice so bad as Levity of Tongue;
He that talks much is often in the Wrong.
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It moves so swiftly, and it mounts so high;
And Reason follows with so slow a Pace,
She soon is lost and distanc'd in the Race.
From hence is all that Vanity of Speech,
Which Boys are fond of, and which Madmen teach.
But now suppose we may one Woman find,
Loaded with all the Follies of her Kind;
Inconstant, humoursome, affected, nice,
Strong in her Passions, of a Gust for Vice;
O'ercharg'd with Malice, Turbulence, and Spleen,
In Speech provoking, in Resentments keen,
Self-will'd, imperious, proud, to Vengeance prone,
Dissembling all Things, and believing none,
Lavish of Faith, and prodigal of Fame,
Stranger alike to Virtue, and to Shame;
Grant all these Follies in one Woman meet,
And shew the Vices of the Sex compleat:
Because one is, must ev'ry Fair be so?
The Fools say, Yes; but wiser Chaucer, No.
For sure one Woman cannot be a Test
To damn the Sex, and scandal all the rest.
Loaded with all the Follies of her Kind;
Inconstant, humoursome, affected, nice,
Strong in her Passions, of a Gust for Vice;
O'ercharg'd with Malice, Turbulence, and Spleen,
In Speech provoking, in Resentments keen,
Self-will'd, imperious, proud, to Vengeance prone,
Dissembling all Things, and believing none,
Lavish of Faith, and prodigal of Fame,
Stranger alike to Virtue, and to Shame;
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And shew the Vices of the Sex compleat:
Because one is, must ev'ry Fair be so?
The Fools say, Yes; but wiser Chaucer, No.
For sure one Woman cannot be a Test
To damn the Sex, and scandal all the rest.
When the high God his Ranks of Angels fram'd,
Were all among that Heav'nly Host unblam'd?
We know that many from their Glory fell,
By Pride sent headlong to the Depths of Hell.
What tho' they fell, shall Mortals be allow'd
From their Offence to style all Angels proud?
Were all among that Heav'nly Host unblam'd?
We know that many from their Glory fell,
By Pride sent headlong to the Depths of Hell.
What tho' they fell, shall Mortals be allow'd
From their Offence to style all Angels proud?
Yet wave the sacred Text; We ought to know,
What we to Woman as our Mother owe;
Shall Branches on the Root Reproaches bring,
Or the descending Stream despise the Spring?
Could this have flow'd, or that have flourish'd green,
Unless the Mother-Fount, and Tree had been?
What we to Woman as our Mother owe;
Shall Branches on the Root Reproaches bring,
Or the descending Stream despise the Spring?
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Unless the Mother-Fount, and Tree had been?
An antique Proverb is in English told,
(Proverbs are better still for being old)
Ill is the Bird that soils his proper Nest;
Avoid a Title to a homely Jest.
Hold fair thy Mother, and protect her Fame,
Since thou must be a Sharer in her Shame.
(Proverbs are better still for being old)
Ill is the Bird that soils his proper Nest;
Avoid a Title to a homely Jest.
Hold fair thy Mother, and protect her Fame,
Since thou must be a Sharer in her Shame.
And yet the Ladies long Complaints have made
On wicked Scholars of the writing Trade,
Who unprovok'd, in senseless Rhymes proclaim
The Sexes Falshood, and insult their Fame.
A Race of Blockheads who pretend to think,
And cooly murder with their Pen and Ink.
These sorry Books (for sorry sure they are)
Recite unnumber'd Treasons of the Fair;
They tell of David, Sampson, Solomon,
And thousands more by faithless Dames undone;
And when they can no farther stretch their Lays,
Condemn poor Woman by Et Cætera's.
On wicked Scholars of the writing Trade,
Who unprovok'd, in senseless Rhymes proclaim
The Sexes Falshood, and insult their Fame.
A Race of Blockheads who pretend to think,
And cooly murder with their Pen and Ink.
These sorry Books (for sorry sure they are)
Recite unnumber'd Treasons of the Fair;
38
And thousands more by faithless Dames undone;
And when they can no farther stretch their Lays,
Condemn poor Woman by Et Cætera's.
Ovid, who wrote the Remedy of Love,
(Vain Bard to write what he could never prove!)
Reproaches Women in malicious Strains;
Yet was he but an Ass for all his Pains:
And so is every one whose Pen upbraids,
Or true, or false, the Levity of Maids.
But all the learned Clerks, as Custom goes,
This Maxim hold in Metre, and in Prose,
The Sex against their Knowledge to blaspheme,
And Lye at large, when Woman is the Theme.
(Vain Bard to write what he could never prove!)
Reproaches Women in malicious Strains;
Yet was he but an Ass for all his Pains:
And so is every one whose Pen upbraids,
Or true, or false, the Levity of Maids.
But all the learned Clerks, as Custom goes,
This Maxim hold in Metre, and in Prose,
The Sex against their Knowledge to blaspheme,
And Lye at large, when Woman is the Theme.
These wicked Clerks, averse to honest Truth,
Debauch the tender Principles of Youth!
Teach them, by idle Books, and foolish Rhymes,
To shun their Charms, and hate the Sex betimes;
Of guilty Maids, and Lovers lost, enroll
A canting, lying, lamentable Scroll.
Thus ev'ry Boy of some false Nymph can tell,
And curses Woman, as he learns to spell.
Debauch the tender Principles of Youth!
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To shun their Charms, and hate the Sex betimes;
Of guilty Maids, and Lovers lost, enroll
A canting, lying, lamentable Scroll.
Thus ev'ry Boy of some false Nymph can tell,
And curses Woman, as he learns to spell.
Yet naught avails it what these Scholars feign,
Their Saws, their Sayings, and their Books are vain.
For here I swear, from this auspicious Hour,
What between mine, and Lady Nature's Pow'r,
Long as this worldly Frame, and Men endure,
The Force of Love no Remedy shall cure.
Their Saws, their Sayings, and their Books are vain.
For here I swear, from this auspicious Hour,
What between mine, and Lady Nature's Pow'r,
Long as this worldly Frame, and Men endure,
The Force of Love no Remedy shall cure.
These very Wretches, who my Pow'r disdain,
Have felt my Arrows, and have hugg'd my Chain.
But now unwieldy Age, unfit for Sport,
Hath cut the Vigour of their Talents short;
They want the Courage to engage in Fight;
So laugh at Love, turn splenetic, and write.
Well said wise Reynard, when he wanted Pow'r
To reach the distant Vine,—Those Grapes are sow'r.
Have felt my Arrows, and have hugg'd my Chain.
But now unwieldy Age, unfit for Sport,
Hath cut the Vigour of their Talents short;
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So laugh at Love, turn splenetic, and write.
Well said wise Reynard, when he wanted Pow'r
To reach the distant Vine,—Those Grapes are sow'r.
But maugre those who censure Woman most,
(Such is the fatal Force my Arrows boast)
One Blow shall strike the sawcy Babblers mute,
Confound their Satyr, and their Pride refute.
If so I will, for all that they can muse,
These Wits shall seek the Refuse of the Stews,
Blindly pursue the lowest, meanest Flirt,
Grow fond, and court Deformity and Dirt;
Nor less for her shall be the painful Smart,
Than if a Duchess had enflam'd his Heart!
So can I set the Soul of Man on Fire,
And Joy, or Sorrow, at my Will inspire!
Then woe the Wretch! who dares condemn the Fair,
Long shall he weep, and struggle in the Snare,
Smit by my piercing Dart his Folly moan,
And all my Godhead in its Terrors own.
(Such is the fatal Force my Arrows boast)
One Blow shall strike the sawcy Babblers mute,
Confound their Satyr, and their Pride refute.
If so I will, for all that they can muse,
These Wits shall seek the Refuse of the Stews,
Blindly pursue the lowest, meanest Flirt,
Grow fond, and court Deformity and Dirt;
Nor less for her shall be the painful Smart,
Than if a Duchess had enflam'd his Heart!
So can I set the Soul of Man on Fire,
And Joy, or Sorrow, at my Will inspire!
41
Long shall he weep, and struggle in the Snare,
Smit by my piercing Dart his Folly moan,
And all my Godhead in its Terrors own.
Let Ovid, subtle Clerk, a Witness stand
To future Times, of my avenging Hand.
He and a thousand more with Learning fraught,
Spite of their Learning, were by Woman caught.
Well may it seem a Mystery to some,
That he, the first and greatest Wit of Rome,
Who tutor'd others in the Lover's School,
Should prove no better than a Woman's Fool.
To future Times, of my avenging Hand.
He and a thousand more with Learning fraught,
Spite of their Learning, were by Woman caught.
Well may it seem a Mystery to some,
That he, the first and greatest Wit of Rome,
Who tutor'd others in the Lover's School,
Should prove no better than a Woman's Fool.
But none should wonder at such Sights as these,
Since Women see the Frauds of Men with Ease,
Their soft Seducements and alluring Arts,
And treach'rous Falshood lurking at their Hearts.
Thus taught by Men, the Female Sex oppose,
With their own Weapons their invading Foes,
Wiles against Wiles are happily employ'd,
As Poyson by another Poyson is destroy'd.
Since Women see the Frauds of Men with Ease,
Their soft Seducements and alluring Arts,
And treach'rous Falshood lurking at their Hearts.
42
With their own Weapons their invading Foes,
Wiles against Wiles are happily employ'd,
As Poyson by another Poyson is destroy'd.
Yet heed me well, ye honourable Fair,
Nor draw Examples from so false a Snare.
Bad were the Dames who ancient Clerks betray'd,
And yet the Clerks in proper Coin were paid.
For if these wicked Men who Love pretend,
Were but sincere, and fearful to offend,
Woman the true and constant Part would play,
But Man is false, and changes every Day;
His Love is Form, his Principle Deceit:
Then where's the Baseness to betray a Cheat?
Nor draw Examples from so false a Snare.
Bad were the Dames who ancient Clerks betray'd,
And yet the Clerks in proper Coin were paid.
For if these wicked Men who Love pretend,
Were but sincere, and fearful to offend,
Woman the true and constant Part would play,
But Man is false, and changes every Day;
His Love is Form, his Principle Deceit:
Then where's the Baseness to betray a Cheat?
Another Scandal on the Sex is thrown,
That they to Lewdness are by Nature prone,
Easie of Faith, and impotent of Mind,
To the first Coxcomb that they meet inclin'd.
If silly Woman is subdu'd so soon,
How idle was the Pen of John de Mohun,
Who in his peerless Legend of the Rose,
Spins such a Series of unnumber'd Woes,
Of Wiles, and Stratagems, and Dangers past,
And all to gain a simple Maid at last?
That they to Lewdness are by Nature prone,
43
To the first Coxcomb that they meet inclin'd.
If silly Woman is subdu'd so soon,
How idle was the Pen of John de Mohun,
Who in his peerless Legend of the Rose,
Spins such a Series of unnumber'd Woes,
Of Wiles, and Stratagems, and Dangers past,
And all to gain a simple Maid at last?
The Case is plain, where Force and Cunning press,
The certain Consequence must be Success:
Thus in the bloody Field are Battels won,
Thus Towns are taken, Women thus undone.
Yet if it asks such Engines, and such Pain,
The Fortress of a Female Heart to gain;
Then are they not that weak and easie Tribe,
Or so inconstant, as the Men describe.
But are as Women ought, and were design'd,
Friendly of Heart, and pitiful of Mind.
The certain Consequence must be Success:
Thus in the bloody Field are Battels won,
Thus Towns are taken, Women thus undone.
Yet if it asks such Engines, and such Pain,
The Fortress of a Female Heart to gain;
44
Or so inconstant, as the Men describe.
But are as Women ought, and were design'd,
Friendly of Heart, and pitiful of Mind.
How kindly good Medea was of old,
Who taught the Youth to win the Fleecy Gold,
How false to her did perjur'd Jason prove,
Who gave him Victory, and Fame, and Love?
What Pity Dido to Æneas show'd,
Receiv'd the shipwreck'd Wand'rer as a God,
Unask'd reliev'd his Wants, heal'd ev'ry Smart,
And gave an Empire dower'd with her Heart?
Yet false, ungrateful, and forsworn he flew,
And her who sav'd him, by Unkindness slew.
My Legend too of Natures will supply
A thousand Falshoods of as black a Dye;
The Reader there, (if so he list) may find,
Nor Vows, nor Oaths can tie the faithless Kind;
That fearless Man pursues his wicked Game,
Nor feels the Conscience of repenting Shame;
That their whole Heart is one infected Ground,
Rank with Deceit, inconstant, and unsound.
Who taught the Youth to win the Fleecy Gold,
How false to her did perjur'd Jason prove,
Who gave him Victory, and Fame, and Love?
What Pity Dido to Æneas show'd,
Receiv'd the shipwreck'd Wand'rer as a God,
Unask'd reliev'd his Wants, heal'd ev'ry Smart,
And gave an Empire dower'd with her Heart?
Yet false, ungrateful, and forsworn he flew,
And her who sav'd him, by Unkindness slew.
My Legend too of Natures will supply
A thousand Falshoods of as black a Dye;
45
Nor Vows, nor Oaths can tie the faithless Kind;
That fearless Man pursues his wicked Game,
Nor feels the Conscience of repenting Shame;
That their whole Heart is one infected Ground,
Rank with Deceit, inconstant, and unsound.
And yet these Legendary Clerks devise,
To blemish Woman with repeated Lyes.
“Hearken, they cry, ye bold Felonious Brood,
“Who live by Murder, and grow fat by Blood;
“Would you some new, some mighty Crime begin,
“Let Woman be a Sharer in the Sin.
“Do Tears and soft Compassion plead for Life?
“Give Her the fatal Sword, or murd'ring Knife:
“To all the gentle Ties of Nature blind,
“She'll stab—and justifie her wicked Kind.
To blemish Woman with repeated Lyes.
“Hearken, they cry, ye bold Felonious Brood,
“Who live by Murder, and grow fat by Blood;
“Would you some new, some mighty Crime begin,
“Let Woman be a Sharer in the Sin.
“Do Tears and soft Compassion plead for Life?
“Give Her the fatal Sword, or murd'ring Knife:
“To all the gentle Ties of Nature blind,
“She'll stab—and justifie her wicked Kind.
46
Oh! to what height Invention will arrive,
When Malice sows the Seed, and bids it thrive!
Scandal may safely under Covert shoot,
But Things improbable themselves refute.
For who, alas! can fear a Woman's Heart?
At cruel Deeds their softer Tempers start.
Oppression is a Stranger to the Sex,
They burn no Towns, no harrass'd Subjects vex;
No Instruments of War, or Fraud employ,
Betray no Empires, and no Kings destroy;
By them no Heirs are lost, no Bubbles made,
The Courtiers, Lawyers, and Physicians Trade.
When Malice sows the Seed, and bids it thrive!
Scandal may safely under Covert shoot,
But Things improbable themselves refute.
For who, alas! can fear a Woman's Heart?
At cruel Deeds their softer Tempers start.
Oppression is a Stranger to the Sex,
They burn no Towns, no harrass'd Subjects vex;
No Instruments of War, or Fraud employ,
Betray no Empires, and no Kings destroy;
By them no Heirs are lost, no Bubbles made,
The Courtiers, Lawyers, and Physicians Trade.
From Nature, and from Custom, they possess
A tender Charity, inclin'd to bless;
Good Will, and fair Belief their Actions crown;
Some Sense they have—but Love is all their own.
The Wrath of Man their milder Words controul,
Disarm his Rage, and softly sooth his Soul;
For Eloquence innate their Language warms,
And outward Beauty speaks their inward Charms.
Woman is all the Wonders that we paint,
A Guardian Angel, and a Saving Saint,
Full of Devotion, to Compassion prone,
Humble as Strangers in a Land unknown.
Their glowing Blushes tell their modest Thought,
Yet are they Free, where Freedom is no Fault;
Awful and silent, yet when Reason calls,
In measurable Words their Meaning falls.
A tender Charity, inclin'd to bless;
Good Will, and fair Belief their Actions crown;
Some Sense they have—but Love is all their own.
47
Disarm his Rage, and softly sooth his Soul;
For Eloquence innate their Language warms,
And outward Beauty speaks their inward Charms.
Woman is all the Wonders that we paint,
A Guardian Angel, and a Saving Saint,
Full of Devotion, to Compassion prone,
Humble as Strangers in a Land unknown.
Their glowing Blushes tell their modest Thought,
Yet are they Free, where Freedom is no Fault;
Awful and silent, yet when Reason calls,
In measurable Words their Meaning falls.
But now if One among the Female Kind,
(And One perhaps a curious Eye may find)
Is not with all these proper Virtues blest;
Know that, That One has Nature's Rules transgrest:
And let some Trav'ler say, who long has sought,
At last he found a Woman with a Fault.
(And One perhaps a curious Eye may find)
Is not with all these proper Virtues blest;
Know that, That One has Nature's Rules transgrest:
48
At last he found a Woman with a Fault.
The next and last Recourse of wicked Men,
Is to wound Woman with the sacred Pen,
To curse poor Eve, and urge the Text that bears
The sad Entail—To Her and to her Heirs.
What Time her fatal Hand presum'd to draw
The Fruit Forbidden, and to break the Law.
Is to wound Woman with the sacred Pen,
To curse poor Eve, and urge the Text that bears
The sad Entail—To Her and to her Heirs.
What Time her fatal Hand presum'd to draw
The Fruit Forbidden, and to break the Law.
To Sermon thus as holy Churchmen ought,
Perhaps in us weak Laymen is a Fault;
And yet I fear not, least the grave Divines
To Penance damn me for unhallow'd Lines.
On other Sinners may their Curses show'r,
I love the Clergy—for I know their Pow'r.
If they cannot my ruder Lines approve,
Let them to Woman justifie my Love.
Perhaps in us weak Laymen is a Fault;
And yet I fear not, least the grave Divines
To Penance damn me for unhallow'd Lines.
On other Sinners may their Curses show'r,
I love the Clergy—for I know their Pow'r.
If they cannot my ruder Lines approve,
Let them to Woman justifie my Love.
49
Know then, this Deed our Mother ne'er had done,
But by the Devil's smooth Suggestions won,
Who well might cheat the wisest Woman's Eyes,
Bely'd beneath the Serpent's new Disguise.
Tho' Man was lost by her too forward Fault,
The Loss of Man was never in her Thought.
But by the Devil's smooth Suggestions won,
Who well might cheat the wisest Woman's Eyes,
Bely'd beneath the Serpent's new Disguise.
Tho' Man was lost by her too forward Fault,
The Loss of Man was never in her Thought.
Let any Railer at the Sex that can,
Prove her Intention to deceive the Man.
Deceit supposes, e'er the Deed be wrought,
A Will to do it, and a Train of Thought;
Adapts the Means and Manner to deceive,
But what injurious Tongue says this of Eve?
No Man betrays, but casts his Purpose first:
This Satan did; by him we stand accurst.
The Fiend's Contrivance gave the fatal Stroke,
The Woman only her Obedience broke:
Which Law the best and wisest of us all
Daily infringe, yet damn Her for our Fall.
Vain Partiality! absurd Abuse!
That will not lend, yet borrows Her Excuse.
Prove her Intention to deceive the Man.
Deceit supposes, e'er the Deed be wrought,
A Will to do it, and a Train of Thought;
Adapts the Means and Manner to deceive,
But what injurious Tongue says this of Eve?
No Man betrays, but casts his Purpose first:
This Satan did; by him we stand accurst.
The Fiend's Contrivance gave the fatal Stroke,
The Woman only her Obedience broke:
50
Daily infringe, yet damn Her for our Fall.
Vain Partiality! absurd Abuse!
That will not lend, yet borrows Her Excuse.
But Man is stedfast, in his Purpose strong;
And Woman light, and leaning to the Wrong.
So Authors say, and this we still embrace;
But who can witness this in Adam's Case?
Their Frailties were alike, both Pardon need,
Tho' more Excuses for the Woman plead,
Since Willingly the Fiend did her deceive,
And so did not she Adam, by your Leave.
And Woman light, and leaning to the Wrong.
So Authors say, and this we still embrace;
But who can witness this in Adam's Case?
Their Frailties were alike, both Pardon need,
Tho' more Excuses for the Woman plead,
Since Willingly the Fiend did her deceive,
And so did not she Adam, by your Leave.
Yet happy was this Sin to human Race,
The Spring of endless Joy, the Source of Grace.
Himself deceiv'd the great Deceiver found,
And felt in Man Redeem'd the threaten'd Wound.
Nor would High God, All-knowing, and All-wise,
Who pierces Nature with unslumb'ring Eyes,
Had He in Woman seen what Men record,
Deem'd her a Lodging suited to our Lord,
Or planted in that Sex whence Sin began
A Second Tree of Life, and rais'd immortal Man,
The Spring of endless Joy, the Source of Grace.
51
And felt in Man Redeem'd the threaten'd Wound.
Nor would High God, All-knowing, and All-wise,
Who pierces Nature with unslumb'ring Eyes,
Had He in Woman seen what Men record,
Deem'd her a Lodging suited to our Lord,
Or planted in that Sex whence Sin began
A Second Tree of Life, and rais'd immortal Man,
O Lady, full of Excellence, and Grace!
O dear Renewer of a ruin'd Race!
What Prophet, or what Angel will inspire
My glowing Heart, and touch my Lips with Fire?
No lower Praise can with thy Blessings vie,
Nor human Voice attempt a Song so high.
Ye Sons of Men, for Her alone revere
The sacred Sex with Wonder, Love, and Fear.
O dear Renewer of a ruin'd Race!
What Prophet, or what Angel will inspire
My glowing Heart, and touch my Lips with Fire?
No lower Praise can with thy Blessings vie,
Nor human Voice attempt a Song so high.
52
The sacred Sex with Wonder, Love, and Fear.
If farther we in Holy Writ proceed,
More Miracles of Female Truth we read.
The Son of God, abandon'd, and forlorn,
Left by his Friends, and to his Foes a Scorn,
While some his Person fled, and some deny'd,
Yet Woman, constant Woman, never ly'd.
Then sacred Faith from ev'ry Bosom flown,
In Woman lodg'd— She was the Churce alone.
She felt his Agonies, his Wounds, his Thirst,
Last left Him dying, met him rising First.
More Miracles of Female Truth we read.
The Son of God, abandon'd, and forlorn,
Left by his Friends, and to his Foes a Scorn,
While some his Person fled, and some deny'd,
Yet Woman, constant Woman, never ly'd.
Then sacred Faith from ev'ry Bosom flown,
In Woman lodg'd— She was the Churce alone.
She felt his Agonies, his Wounds, his Thirst,
Last left Him dying, met him rising First.
O Magdalen! O Holy Sainted Maid!
O Strength Divine in Weakness more display'd!
Scornful of Life for thy Celestial King,
O fairest Jewel in the Martyr's Ring!
What Host of Converts by thy Faith were led!
How didst thou living dye, and triumph dead!
O Strength Divine in Weakness more display'd!
53
O fairest Jewel in the Martyr's Ring!
What Host of Converts by thy Faith were led!
How didst thou living dye, and triumph dead!
Yet construe, Sirs, aright what I intend,
I not the Virgin, but the Saint commend:
Trust me, it never enter'd once my Head,
To be the Patron of a barren Bed.
I ever was, and will be still a Foe
To Hearts of Ice, and chilly Breasts of Snow.
The Church may praise the Virtues of a Nun,
But I cannot,—and I am only one.
I not the Virgin, but the Saint commend:
Trust me, it never enter'd once my Head,
To be the Patron of a barren Bed.
I ever was, and will be still a Foe
To Hearts of Ice, and chilly Breasts of Snow.
The Church may praise the Virtues of a Nun,
But I cannot,—and I am only one.
Now hold this true, and once in Cupid trust,
All I have said of Womankind is just.
No vulgar Incense courts their Beauties here,
The servile Sacrifice of Fools that fear;
Nor flatt'ring Song, ambitious to ensnare,
By pow'rful Numbers, the deluded Fair.
Their Features with impartial Hand I strike;
And draw the Picture beautiful, yet like,
That when the Sex the just Resemblance see,
Of what they are, or what they ought to be,
They may the Tract of Honour still maintain,
Nor only by their Charms, but Virtue reign.
O Virtue, brightest Pow'r, O Guest Divine!
When Woman's Bosom is thy sacred Shrine,
Pride flies thy Presence, Pride, that teaches how
To form the Gate, and falsify the Brow;
Pride, that allows the Praise of Fools to pass
With the fond Fair, and proves it by her Glass:
With thee sweet Guest, nor Folly dwells, nor Sin,
But all is just without, and pure within.
All I have said of Womankind is just.
No vulgar Incense courts their Beauties here,
The servile Sacrifice of Fools that fear;
54
By pow'rful Numbers, the deluded Fair.
Their Features with impartial Hand I strike;
And draw the Picture beautiful, yet like,
That when the Sex the just Resemblance see,
Of what they are, or what they ought to be,
They may the Tract of Honour still maintain,
Nor only by their Charms, but Virtue reign.
O Virtue, brightest Pow'r, O Guest Divine!
When Woman's Bosom is thy sacred Shrine,
Pride flies thy Presence, Pride, that teaches how
To form the Gate, and falsify the Brow;
Pride, that allows the Praise of Fools to pass
With the fond Fair, and proves it by her Glass:
With thee sweet Guest, nor Folly dwells, nor Sin,
But all is just without, and pure within.
55
Thus then we purpose by our Sov'reign Will,
(And we have sworn our Purpose to fulfil)
Let all our Ministers attend our Nod,
And thus perform the Sentence of their God.
Put these False Men, our Rebel Foes, to Flight,
And banish them for ever from our Sight.
Let them unpity'd and despairing rove,
Nor dare again approach the Court of Love.
On Pain of our Displeasure, none presume,
Or to defer, or mitigate their Doom.
Giv'n at our Court, where, wonderful to tell!
Millions and Millions of true Lovers dwell.
See that, at full our Warrant you obey,
Thus written In the Lusty Month of May.
(And we have sworn our Purpose to fulfil)
Let all our Ministers attend our Nod,
And thus perform the Sentence of their God.
Put these False Men, our Rebel Foes, to Flight,
And banish them for ever from our Sight.
Let them unpity'd and despairing rove,
Nor dare again approach the Court of Love.
On Pain of our Displeasure, none presume,
Or to defer, or mitigate their Doom.
Giv'n at our Court, where, wonderful to tell!
Millions and Millions of true Lovers dwell.
See that, at full our Warrant you obey,
Thus written In the Lusty Month of May.
John de Mohun, a French Author, whom Chaucer has translated; the Title of the Book is the Romaunt of the Rose; the Subject is all Love.
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