The works of Mr. Thomas Brown Serious and Comical, In Prose and Verse; In four volumes. The Fourth Edition, Corrected, and much Enlarged from his Originals never before publish'd. With a key to all his Writings |
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A SATIRE against WOMAN.
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 | The works of Mr. Thomas Brown |  |
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A SATIRE against WOMAN.
To a Lady who let a fine Gentleman die for Love of her.
Foolish
Lucinda, think what is thy due,
Since witty Strephon's dead, and dead by you.
Think what your Folly, and your Crime demand,
Which all your treach'rous Arts cannot withstand.
In vain your Eyes with Coquetry you Arm,
The false Advances are to me no Charm.
I shun the Rock where Strephon has been split,
And like Ulysses will serenely sit,
Regardless of your Beauty, or your Wit.
Thy Syren Sounds, 'tis true, assault my Ear,
But the frail Joy's forbid by juster Fear;
For while I Strephon's Memory maintain,
Your warbling Sounds attack my Soul in vain.
When Wit and Honour you in him despise,
Your Pertness has no Charm, no Force your Eyes;
To Fools and Knaves you are the destin'd Prey,
Fate is your Judge, and your Tormenters they.
Since witty Strephon's dead, and dead by you.
Think what your Folly, and your Crime demand,
Which all your treach'rous Arts cannot withstand.
In vain your Eyes with Coquetry you Arm,
The false Advances are to me no Charm.
I shun the Rock where Strephon has been split,
And like Ulysses will serenely sit,
Regardless of your Beauty, or your Wit.
Thy Syren Sounds, 'tis true, assault my Ear,
But the frail Joy's forbid by juster Fear;
For while I Strephon's Memory maintain,
Your warbling Sounds attack my Soul in vain.
When Wit and Honour you in him despise,
Your Pertness has no Charm, no Force your Eyes;
To Fools and Knaves you are the destin'd Prey,
Fate is your Judge, and your Tormenters they.
May'st thou a Maid be still, in Thing or Name,
Without the Pleasure, may'st thou lose thy Fame,
Let lustful Wishes rack thy guilty Mind,
Yet no Relief in the Possession find.
Let every Man thou seest give new Desires,
And not one quench the rank salacious Fires;
'Till the devouring Heat with Envy joyn'd,
Rivel thy Body and distort thy Mind;
While the Green-sickness, Stone, and loathsome Itch,
Consume thy Youth, and burn thee for a Witch.
Without the Pleasure, may'st thou lose thy Fame,
Let lustful Wishes rack thy guilty Mind,
Yet no Relief in the Possession find.
Let every Man thou seest give new Desires,
And not one quench the rank salacious Fires;
'Till the devouring Heat with Envy joyn'd,
Rivel thy Body and distort thy Mind;
While the Green-sickness, Stone, and loathsome Itch,
Consume thy Youth, and burn thee for a Witch.
But if it be thy Fate at last to win,
Some Wood-cock, Coxcomb, to thy Nuptial Ginn;
May thy curs'd Days and Nights be never free,
From disappointing Impotence and Jealousy;
May that thy Nuptial Pleasures still destroy,
And this thy strong Attempts at lawless Joy.
Ill Humours, Anger, Drubs, be all thy Lot,
And, more to raise thy Pain, be Strephon ne'er forgot
His Honour, Love and Merit, haunt thee still,
And by lost Joys enhance thy present Ill.
Some Wood-cock, Coxcomb, to thy Nuptial Ginn;
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From disappointing Impotence and Jealousy;
May that thy Nuptial Pleasures still destroy,
And this thy strong Attempts at lawless Joy.
Ill Humours, Anger, Drubs, be all thy Lot,
And, more to raise thy Pain, be Strephon ne'er forgot
His Honour, Love and Merit, haunt thee still,
And by lost Joys enhance thy present Ill.
But why on thee weak Curses do I spend,
For thoughtless Crimes, which come out of thy Kind
The Sex are all Pandora's; Mischiefs all,
Which only on your foolish Vassals fall,
The happy Man, that scorns your idle Charms,
Lives most secure from all their racking Harms;
While he that yields to your insulting Eyes,
Jilted, deceiv'd, betray'd, in Sorrow dies.
For thoughtless Crimes, which come out of thy Kind
The Sex are all Pandora's; Mischiefs all,
Which only on your foolish Vassals fall,
The happy Man, that scorns your idle Charms,
Lives most secure from all their racking Harms;
While he that yields to your insulting Eyes,
Jilted, deceiv'd, betray'd, in Sorrow dies.
What lasting Pleasures can from Woman spring,
Woman, that various and that changeful Thing?
Fleeting and anxious are the Joys we gain,
But strong and lasting, as the Cause, the Pain.
Who can suppose that Sense shou'd e'er prevail.
Where Ignorance and Folly never fail?
That Truth and Love success shou'd ever find,
In the fantastick Heart of Womankind;
All Show themselves, only by Show they're won,
And to their Ruin, Truth they're sure to shun,
And hug Deceit, by which they are undone.
Woman, that various and that changeful Thing?
Fleeting and anxious are the Joys we gain,
But strong and lasting, as the Cause, the Pain.
Who can suppose that Sense shou'd e'er prevail.
Where Ignorance and Folly never fail?
That Truth and Love success shou'd ever find,
In the fantastick Heart of Womankind;
All Show themselves, only by Show they're won,
And to their Ruin, Truth they're sure to shun,
And hug Deceit, by which they are undone.
The boisterous Bullies, or the fraudful Knave,
The cunning Hypocrite, and cringing Slave,
Are sure to gain upon the thoughtless Kind,
With ease they vanquish their unguided Mind.
Oh! gaudy Source of all Mens Hopes and Fears,
Foil of their Youth, and Scandal of their Years;
To what vile Crimes dost thou still draw us in?
At once the Cause and Punishment of Sin.
All their Allurements they with Art display,
To cause frail Man to deviate from his Way.
Alternate Smiles and Frowns, both insincere,
Gay Laughter now, then Sighs, with an ensnaring Tear,
Insulting Pride succeeds, and then dissembled Fear.
Now sprightly Motion arms her wanton Eye,
Then in soft Languishments she'll seem to die,
Thus all the unguarded Passes of his Mind she'll try;
'Till vanquish'd by her strong bewitching Charms,
He falls a willing Pris'ner to her Arms,
There meets a Veng'ance of ne'er ending Harms.
The cunning Hypocrite, and cringing Slave,
Are sure to gain upon the thoughtless Kind,
With ease they vanquish their unguided Mind.
Oh! gaudy Source of all Mens Hopes and Fears,
Foil of their Youth, and Scandal of their Years;
To what vile Crimes dost thou still draw us in?
At once the Cause and Punishment of Sin.
All their Allurements they with Art display,
To cause frail Man to deviate from his Way.
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Gay Laughter now, then Sighs, with an ensnaring Tear,
Insulting Pride succeeds, and then dissembled Fear.
Now sprightly Motion arms her wanton Eye,
Then in soft Languishments she'll seem to die,
Thus all the unguarded Passes of his Mind she'll try;
'Till vanquish'd by her strong bewitching Charms,
He falls a willing Pris'ner to her Arms,
There meets a Veng'ance of ne'er ending Harms.
To shun this Mischief, know its Vices well,
And listen while I all the Sex reveal.
And listen while I all the Sex reveal.
Of wild and various Lusts, of Ignorance,
Of Avarice strange, and yet profuse Expence;
Of superstitious Craft, Profaneness bold,
Of windy Nonsense, Follies manifold;
Of Cruelty, Inconstancy and Lyes,
Envy and Malice, deep Hypocrisies;
Of Hate and Anger, and impetuous Rage,
That Reason cannot cure, nor Time asswage;
Revenge implacable, and lawless Fires,
Of impotent, still varying Desires;
And of ten Thousand nameless Vices more,
Is this vile Idol made, which Men adore.
Of Avarice strange, and yet profuse Expence;
Of superstitious Craft, Profaneness bold,
Of windy Nonsense, Follies manifold;
Of Cruelty, Inconstancy and Lyes,
Envy and Malice, deep Hypocrisies;
Of Hate and Anger, and impetuous Rage,
That Reason cannot cure, nor Time asswage;
Revenge implacable, and lawless Fires,
Of impotent, still varying Desires;
And of ten Thousand nameless Vices more,
Is this vile Idol made, which Men adore.
We need not rake the Brothel and the Stews,
To see what various Scenes of Lust they use,
There the lewd Punks of Want may plead Excuse.
But let us to proud Palaces repair,
And out of Choice see what is acted there;
Where unconstrain'd, by want of Choice they lie
Wallowing in all the Filth of boundless Luxury;
They set no Limits to their wild Desires,
But each possesses what she now admires.
Footman and Groom successively they know,
The sooty Negro, and the pulvill'd Beau,
The brawny Coachman, and the Porter too.
Fools of all sorts, with Pleasure they admit,
While they palm Virtue on the suing Wit.
To see what various Scenes of Lust they use,
There the lewd Punks of Want may plead Excuse.
But let us to proud Palaces repair,
And out of Choice see what is acted there;
Where unconstrain'd, by want of Choice they lie
Wallowing in all the Filth of boundless Luxury;
They set no Limits to their wild Desires,
But each possesses what she now admires.
Footman and Groom successively they know,
The sooty Negro, and the pulvill'd Beau,
The brawny Coachman, and the Porter too.
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While they palm Virtue on the suing Wit.
'Till cloy'd with Incest and Adultery,
To Lusts more strange, with eagerness they fly;
The Crimes in Natures Bounds they think too few,
And therefore out of Nature seek for new,
Lais in Phryne's Arms will now expire,
And with strange Art would quench the growing Fire,
Still raging with unsatisfy'd Desire.
To Lusts more strange, with eagerness they fly;
The Crimes in Natures Bounds they think too few,
And therefore out of Nature seek for new,
Lais in Phryne's Arms will now expire,
And with strange Art would quench the growing Fire,
Still raging with unsatisfy'd Desire.
I strive in vain, the varying Crimes to trace,
Of this salacious and destructive Race;
Let it suffice that I at once declare,
No Law can bind them, and no Love endear.
Nor shall I hear their drunken Nights unfold,
The Tale's too black and shocking to be told;
Or how in Gaming they their Hours employ,
While thus their Husband's Fortune they destroy;
Or pay their Losings with forbidden Joy.
Nor shall I touch their secret Murthers done,
To hide their Lewdness by Abortion;
Or when by Rage and blind Revenge possest,
They point Fools Swords against each others Breast.
Let it suffice that all the Tales of old,
That have of their strange Vices long been told;
Pasiphae, Byblis, Phædra, are out-done,
By Nymphs more lewd and wicked of our own;
For every House in Modern Times can show,
Medea and a Massalina too;
Quite tired of the nauseous Theme, I end,
And quit the Sex for Bottle and for Friend.
Of this salacious and destructive Race;
Let it suffice that I at once declare,
No Law can bind them, and no Love endear.
Nor shall I hear their drunken Nights unfold,
The Tale's too black and shocking to be told;
Or how in Gaming they their Hours employ,
While thus their Husband's Fortune they destroy;
Or pay their Losings with forbidden Joy.
Nor shall I touch their secret Murthers done,
To hide their Lewdness by Abortion;
Or when by Rage and blind Revenge possest,
They point Fools Swords against each others Breast.
Let it suffice that all the Tales of old,
That have of their strange Vices long been told;
Pasiphae, Byblis, Phædra, are out-done,
By Nymphs more lewd and wicked of our own;
For every House in Modern Times can show,
Medea and a Massalina too;
Quite tired of the nauseous Theme, I end,
And quit the Sex for Bottle and for Friend.
Celia alone's exempt from all these Crimes,
At once the Charm and Honour of these Times.
To make this Phenix of the Age divine,
Obliging Humour, Wit and Beauty join;
No Affectation checks the Joy she gives,
For she no Pride from all her Worth derives.
If you ask more, to unknown Worlds repair,
And try to make the strange Discovery there,
For our known World can only boast of her.
More than Columbus wou'd thy Search obtain,
But cease, the fruitless Toil will be in vain.
At once the Charm and Honour of these Times.
To make this Phenix of the Age divine,
Obliging Humour, Wit and Beauty join;
No Affectation checks the Joy she gives,
For she no Pride from all her Worth derives.
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And try to make the strange Discovery there,
For our known World can only boast of her.
More than Columbus wou'd thy Search obtain,
But cease, the fruitless Toil will be in vain.
| The works of Mr. Thomas Brown | |