 | The wits paraphras'd |  |
18
Phillis to Demophoon.
The ARGUMENT.
Demophoon, who was Son to Theseus and Phædra, on returning from the Trojan War into his own Country, was by a Tempest driven upon the Coast of Thrace, where Phillis, who was the Queen of Thrace, entertain'd him, and married him. When he had stayed with her some time, he heard that Menelaeus was dead; who after he had conquered Theseus, had usurpt the Government of Athens: and under pretence of setling his own affairs, he went to Athens, and promised the Queen that he would come back again in a month. When he had been gone four months, and that she had heard no news of him, she writes him this Letter.
I did not think you such a Dunstable,
That you shou'd thus outrun the Constable,
And stay so long from your own Phillis,
As true a Wench as e'er was Willis.
I gave you a month, and thought 'twas well:
But give an Inch, you'll take an Ell.
Thrice did the Moon her horns renew;
As many a time I gave 'em you.
Did you the hours and minutes tell,
As Phillis does, and lov'd so well,
You'd think 'twere time you shou'd be thronging
To satisfie a womans longing.
With all the pleasure that is in it,
I did expect you every minute:
And still I hoped for the better;
But there's no trusting mortal Creature.
A thousand bloudy Oaths I swore,
I saw thy Sculler make to shore;
And all your Friends that stopt your sail,
I curst 'em to the Pit of Hell.
Sometimes I fear'd some old Curmudgeon
O'th' Deep had gulpt thee for a Gudgeon;
And beg'd of Jove to let thee snort,
Tho I was nere the better for't.
I clapt my hand upon my Bum,
And every blast I cry'd, He's come.
Nay still I found some new pretences
To cry thee up amongst the Wenches:
And yet you stand upon Resistance,
And keep a body at such Distance,
As if I were not worth the longs
To touch me with a pair of Tongs.
That you shou'd thus outrun the Constable,
And stay so long from your own Phillis,
As true a Wench as e'er was Willis.
I gave you a month, and thought 'twas well:
But give an Inch, you'll take an Ell.
Thrice did the Moon her horns renew;
As many a time I gave 'em you.
19
As Phillis does, and lov'd so well,
You'd think 'twere time you shou'd be thronging
To satisfie a womans longing.
With all the pleasure that is in it,
I did expect you every minute:
And still I hoped for the better;
But there's no trusting mortal Creature.
A thousand bloudy Oaths I swore,
I saw thy Sculler make to shore;
And all your Friends that stopt your sail,
I curst 'em to the Pit of Hell.
Sometimes I fear'd some old Curmudgeon
O'th' Deep had gulpt thee for a Gudgeon;
And beg'd of Jove to let thee snort,
Tho I was nere the better for't.
I clapt my hand upon my Bum,
And every blast I cry'd, He's come.
20
To cry thee up amongst the Wenches:
And yet you stand upon Resistance,
And keep a body at such Distance,
As if I were not worth the longs
To touch me with a pair of Tongs.
I priz'd your Promise, like a fool;
But 'twas great Cry, and little Wool.
What have I done? I was a Beast
To be so fond of such a Guest,
Pox take all Fondlings: I can tell
The cause, I lov'd you but too well.
What signifies your flattering words?
Where are your Gods? not worth two turds.
Where's Hymen too, that old Match-monger?
I can't forbear him any longer.
You swore by all that's good and right,
By Bell, by Book, and Candle-light,
You'd never leave me while you staid;
Then hang an arse, and play the Jade.
You swore by all the Gods that be,
(But what have they to do with thee?)
By Juno, Venus, ne'er to budge,
Till death depart, from your old Drudge.
And what more than thy parting griev'd me,
I like a silly Jade believ'd thee.
Who'd think thee such a damn'd Dissembler?
But thou art worse, a very Rambler.
When you came mumping helm a Larbour,
To look for shelter in my Harbour,
My charity I do not rue,
In giving thee an Alms or two:
But that it ever shou'd be said
I made thee free of Board and Bed,
A Curse attend the Carrier down
The first day brought thee to the Town,
And gave thee that unlucky cast;
I wish that day had been my last:
Then had I di'd a Maid, and well,
Tho for it I led Apes in Hell.
Is it for such a pickled Sturgeon,
Such 'bus'ness to deceive a Virgin?
You've got a Booty, march, God b'w'ye,
My Maidenhead, and much good do ye;
And all the good you got thereby,
You may e'en put it in your Eye.
When all your Friends lay strong Devices,
And get a fame by fighting Prizes,
This for your honour we'll intrench,
That you betray'd a silly Wench.
Of all thy Fathers acts and merits,
Which thou so naturally inherits,
Like him thou hast one good condition,
The gift of lying by commission.
He stole from Ariadne's Bed,
And she the better Bargan had:
But I am shun'd by Rook and Bully,
For yielding to so mean a Cully.
Cry, Let her march off with a Pox;
We'll finde a fool to rule the fo'ks.
Yet shou'd you come again, as soon
You'll finde 'em in another tune:
Then wou'd they say, the Cuckold, let her
Take him again, she can't do better.
But 'twas great Cry, and little Wool.
What have I done? I was a Beast
To be so fond of such a Guest,
Pox take all Fondlings: I can tell
The cause, I lov'd you but too well.
What signifies your flattering words?
Where are your Gods? not worth two turds.
Where's Hymen too, that old Match-monger?
I can't forbear him any longer.
You swore by all that's good and right,
By Bell, by Book, and Candle-light,
21
Then hang an arse, and play the Jade.
You swore by all the Gods that be,
(But what have they to do with thee?)
By Juno, Venus, ne'er to budge,
Till death depart, from your old Drudge.
And what more than thy parting griev'd me,
I like a silly Jade believ'd thee.
Who'd think thee such a damn'd Dissembler?
But thou art worse, a very Rambler.
When you came mumping helm a Larbour,
To look for shelter in my Harbour,
My charity I do not rue,
In giving thee an Alms or two:
But that it ever shou'd be said
I made thee free of Board and Bed,
A Curse attend the Carrier down
The first day brought thee to the Town,
22
I wish that day had been my last:
Then had I di'd a Maid, and well,
Tho for it I led Apes in Hell.
Is it for such a pickled Sturgeon,
Such 'bus'ness to deceive a Virgin?
You've got a Booty, march, God b'w'ye,
My Maidenhead, and much good do ye;
And all the good you got thereby,
You may e'en put it in your Eye.
When all your Friends lay strong Devices,
And get a fame by fighting Prizes,
This for your honour we'll intrench,
That you betray'd a silly Wench.
Of all thy Fathers acts and merits,
Which thou so naturally inherits,
Like him thou hast one good condition,
The gift of lying by commission.
23
And she the better Bargan had:
But I am shun'd by Rook and Bully,
For yielding to so mean a Cully.
Cry, Let her march off with a Pox;
We'll finde a fool to rule the fo'ks.
Yet shou'd you come again, as soon
You'll finde 'em in another tune:
Then wou'd they say, the Cuckold, let her
Take him again, she can't do better.
But why shou'd I sish in this Puddle,
And with such Crotchets crack my Noddle?
He's gone for ever, gone to pot;
Rub'd off with what small Geer he's got.
Altho he screw'd with other pegs,
When you were last between my legs,
How sweet upon me were you then?
You kist, and swore you'd come again.
Drown'd in a Flood we both were laid,
That very night you pist the bed;
Cursing Misfortune, Wind, and Weather,
That part which brought us first together;
Then said, methinks I hear thee still,
I'll come, upon my life I will.
You'll come, but when the Devil's blind.
Can I expect you'l be so kind,
When I'm convinc'd you plaid the wag
On meer designe to give the bag?
Yet I cou'd wish with all my heart
And guts thou'd make a little start.
What do I ask? Thou hast perhaps
Another Trollop by the chops;
And has by this forgot my name,
What Geer I am, or whence I came.
But I shall strive to blow the Embers,
And study to rub up your Members.
'Twas I thy ragged state condoling,
Preserv'd thee when thou came a stroling;
Kept thee from stinking in the Socket,
With many a Twopence lin'd thy Pocket.
I gave thee all, I gave so fast,
The Devil and all, my self at last;
My Farm in Copyhold and Tail,
In Trust, till you began to fail;
Which was too much for any woman
To occupy without a Common:
Which makes me wish thee in my Warren,
For fear the Burrough shou'd grow barren.
And with such Crotchets crack my Noddle?
He's gone for ever, gone to pot;
Rub'd off with what small Geer he's got.
Altho he screw'd with other pegs,
When you were last between my legs,
How sweet upon me were you then?
You kist, and swore you'd come again.
24
That very night you pist the bed;
Cursing Misfortune, Wind, and Weather,
That part which brought us first together;
Then said, methinks I hear thee still,
I'll come, upon my life I will.
You'll come, but when the Devil's blind.
Can I expect you'l be so kind,
When I'm convinc'd you plaid the wag
On meer designe to give the bag?
Yet I cou'd wish with all my heart
And guts thou'd make a little start.
What do I ask? Thou hast perhaps
Another Trollop by the chops;
And has by this forgot my name,
What Geer I am, or whence I came.
But I shall strive to blow the Embers,
And study to rub up your Members.
25
Preserv'd thee when thou came a stroling;
Kept thee from stinking in the Socket,
With many a Twopence lin'd thy Pocket.
I gave thee all, I gave so fast,
The Devil and all, my self at last;
My Farm in Copyhold and Tail,
In Trust, till you began to fail;
Which was too much for any woman
To occupy without a Common:
Which makes me wish thee in my Warren,
For fear the Burrough shou'd grow barren.
All day I view the winds with sadness,
Ready to drown my self for madness.
In the next Pond just like a Bedlam,
Was like to throw my self down headlong.
Nay, since you use me thus so ill,
I am resolv'd to do it still.
Ready to drown my self for madness.
In the next Pond just like a Bedlam,
Was like to throw my self down headlong.
Nay, since you use me thus so ill,
I am resolv'd to do it still.
26
Sometimes I think to make a proof
Of Hemlock, Ratsbane, or such stuff:
Then to revenge me on the Elder,
Wou'd stab thee through in Hans en Keldar;
Or in a Nooze of Hemp or Leather,
Surer than that brought us together,
Think decently my self to strangle,
And in that plight hang dingle-dangle
Thy Wife, the flouts are thrown upon her,
Thus with my Life to clear my Honour:
There on my Tomb write this Inscription,
Who dearly lov'd to be a bitching:
Here lies poor Phillis worth a Million,
The truest Jade to th' falsest Villain:
He was the cause of her undoing;
And thank her self for her own ruine.
Of Hemlock, Ratsbane, or such stuff:
Then to revenge me on the Elder,
Wou'd stab thee through in Hans en Keldar;
Or in a Nooze of Hemp or Leather,
Surer than that brought us together,
Think decently my self to strangle,
And in that plight hang dingle-dangle
Thy Wife, the flouts are thrown upon her,
Thus with my Life to clear my Honour:
There on my Tomb write this Inscription,
Who dearly lov'd to be a bitching:
Here lies poor Phillis worth a Million,
The truest Jade to th' falsest Villain:
He was the cause of her undoing;
And thank her self for her own ruine.
| The wits paraphras'd | |