 | Letters and poems |  |
1
LETTERS Gallant & Amorous.
47
On the Author of a Dialogue concerning Women, pretended to be writ in defence of the Sex.
Near
Coven-Garden Theatre, where you know
Poets their Sence, Players their Shapes do shew,
There is a Clubb of Criticks of the Pit,
Who do themselves admire for Men of Wit;
And lo! an arbitrary Power assume
On Plays and Ladies both to pass their Doom;
Censure all things and Persons, Priest and Prince,
And judge them by the Standard of their Sence:
But scan these Sparks, or by their Words or Mien,
You'll find them Fop without, and Fool within.
One of these Brats dress'd up in shape of Satyr,
Comes forth to be the Ladies Vindicator:
And since for Chivalry he claims no Warrant,
Instead of Knight sets up for Poet Errant.
Bless us! said I, what mighty Hero's here?
He thunders so, 'tis dangerous to come near.
The beauteous Sex may set their Hearts at rest;
Of all their Patrons, sure this is the best.
This great dead-doing Champion of the Quill,
Will all the Fry of lewd Lampooners kill;
Then to begin with Dryden's dreadful Name,
Shou'd mark out something of no common Fame.
But when the boasted Matter I had read,
I found my Expectation was misled,
And that the Poet, though he does pretend
To do them Justice, is no Woman's Friend.
Misogynes is made to shoot with Ball,
Philogynes allow'd no charge at all.
And howsoever he disguise the matter,
To publish the First Part, he writ the latter.
Poets their Sence, Players their Shapes do shew,
There is a Clubb of Criticks of the Pit,
Who do themselves admire for Men of Wit;
And lo! an arbitrary Power assume
On Plays and Ladies both to pass their Doom;
Censure all things and Persons, Priest and Prince,
And judge them by the Standard of their Sence:
But scan these Sparks, or by their Words or Mien,
You'll find them Fop without, and Fool within.
48
Comes forth to be the Ladies Vindicator:
And since for Chivalry he claims no Warrant,
Instead of Knight sets up for Poet Errant.
Bless us! said I, what mighty Hero's here?
He thunders so, 'tis dangerous to come near.
The beauteous Sex may set their Hearts at rest;
Of all their Patrons, sure this is the best.
This great dead-doing Champion of the Quill,
Will all the Fry of lewd Lampooners kill;
Then to begin with Dryden's dreadful Name,
Shou'd mark out something of no common Fame.
But when the boasted Matter I had read,
I found my Expectation was misled,
49
To do them Justice, is no Woman's Friend.
Misogynes is made to shoot with Ball,
Philogynes allow'd no charge at all.
And howsoever he disguise the matter,
To publish the First Part, he writ the latter.
He that but strictly marks the whole Design,
May trace the Prefacer in every Line;
And tho' he did not own the wanton Ape,
He nurs'd the Cub, and lick'd it into shape.
And, Ladies, now without the help of Day,
You may discern who does the Weapon sway.
And brandishes his Pen against your Credit;
To Mr. Eat-finger himself that did it.
He that sits silent in his Wits defence,
Whose Mouth is fill'd with Fist instead of Sence;
Or else he crams his Hand into his Jaws,
Like Russian Bears that live upon their Paws.
At Coffee-House among the Men of Worth,
He goggles like a Quaker holding forth.
Like an Endymion he can court the Moon,
And bark at her bright Glories when h'as done;
Or like the Mouse in Fable he can plead,
He has deserv'd t'aspire to Princess Bed,
'Till for his daring Arrogance he's spurn'd,
And all his fop-Pretensions over-turn'd.
Then like the little Vermin squeaks and dies,
Or prints a Book of Ladies Cruelties.
This is the Fool, fair Ladies, that does haunt you,
That will from Dressing-Room: o Play Gallant you.
W--- he is call'd; what Name so much renown'd,
Through all the Realms of Nonsence can be found?
May trace the Prefacer in every Line;
And tho' he did not own the wanton Ape,
He nurs'd the Cub, and lick'd it into shape.
And, Ladies, now without the help of Day,
You may discern who does the Weapon sway.
And brandishes his Pen against your Credit;
To Mr. Eat-finger himself that did it.
He that sits silent in his Wits defence,
Whose Mouth is fill'd with Fist instead of Sence;
Or else he crams his Hand into his Jaws,
Like Russian Bears that live upon their Paws.
50
He goggles like a Quaker holding forth.
Like an Endymion he can court the Moon,
And bark at her bright Glories when h'as done;
Or like the Mouse in Fable he can plead,
He has deserv'd t'aspire to Princess Bed,
'Till for his daring Arrogance he's spurn'd,
And all his fop-Pretensions over-turn'd.
Then like the little Vermin squeaks and dies,
Or prints a Book of Ladies Cruelties.
This is the Fool, fair Ladies, that does haunt you,
That will from Dressing-Room: o Play Gallant you.
W--- he is call'd; what Name so much renown'd,
Through all the Realms of Nonsence can be found?
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