The Poems of Charles Sackville Sixth Earl of Dorset: Edited by Brice Harris |
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A Faithful Catalogue of our Most Eminent Ninnies
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 | The Poems of Charles Sackville |  |
136
A Faithful Catalogue of our Most Eminent Ninnies
137
------ Quos Omnes
Vicini oderunt, noti, pueri atque puellae.
Horace, Sat. I. i. 84–85.
Vicini oderunt, noti, pueri atque puellae.
Horace, Sat. I. i. 84–85.
Curs'd be those dull, unpointed, doggerel rhymes,
Whose harmless rage has lash'd our impious times.
Rise thou, my muse, and with the sharpest thorn,
Instead of peaceful bays, my brows adorn;
Inspir'd with just disdain and mortal hate,
Who long have been my plague shall feel thy weight.
I scorn a giddy and unsafe applause:
But this, ye Gods, is fighting in your cause.
Let Sodom speak and let Gomorrah tell,
If their curs'd walls deserv'd their flames so well.
Go on, my muse, and with bold voice proclaim
The vicious lives and long detested fame
Of scoundrel lords and their lewd wives' amours,
Pimp statesmen, bug'ring priests, court bawds, and whores;
Exalted vice its own vile name does sound,
To climes remote, and distant shores renown'd.
Whose harmless rage has lash'd our impious times.
Rise thou, my muse, and with the sharpest thorn,
Instead of peaceful bays, my brows adorn;
Inspir'd with just disdain and mortal hate,
Who long have been my plague shall feel thy weight.
I scorn a giddy and unsafe applause:
But this, ye Gods, is fighting in your cause.
Let Sodom speak and let Gomorrah tell,
If their curs'd walls deserv'd their flames so well.
Go on, my muse, and with bold voice proclaim
The vicious lives and long detested fame
Of scoundrel lords and their lewd wives' amours,
Pimp statesmen, bug'ring priests, court bawds, and whores;
Exalted vice its own vile name does sound,
To climes remote, and distant shores renown'd.
Thy strumpets, Charles, have 'scap'd no nation's ear;
Cleveland the van, and Portsmouth led the rear:
A brace of cherubs, of as vile a breed,
As ever was produc'd of human seed.
To all but thee the punks were ever kind,
Free as loose air and gen'rous as the wind.
Both steer'd thy p--- and the nation's helm,
And both betray'd thy p--- and thy realm.
Oh Barbara ! thy execrable name
Is sure embalm'd with everlasting shame.
Could not that num'rous host thy lust suffice,
Which in lascivious shoals ador'd thy eyes;
When their bright beams were through our orb display'd,
And kings each morn their Persian homage paid?
Now Churchill! Dover! see how they are sunk
Into her loathsome, sapless, aged trunk.
And yet remains her c---'s insatiate itch,
And there's a devil yet can hug the witch.
Pardon me, Bab, if I mistake his race,
Which is infernal sure, for tho' he has
No cloven foot, he has a cloven face.
Cleveland the van, and Portsmouth led the rear:
A brace of cherubs, of as vile a breed,
As ever was produc'd of human seed.
To all but thee the punks were ever kind,
Free as loose air and gen'rous as the wind.
Both steer'd thy p--- and the nation's helm,
And both betray'd thy p--- and thy realm.
Oh Barbara ! thy execrable name
138
Could not that num'rous host thy lust suffice,
Which in lascivious shoals ador'd thy eyes;
When their bright beams were through our orb display'd,
And kings each morn their Persian homage paid?
Now Churchill! Dover! see how they are sunk
Into her loathsome, sapless, aged trunk.
And yet remains her c---'s insatiate itch,
And there's a devil yet can hug the witch.
Pardon me, Bab, if I mistake his race,
Which is infernal sure, for tho' he has
No cloven foot, he has a cloven face.
Oh sacred James! may thy dread noddle be
As free from danger, as from wit 'tis free;
But if that good and gracious Monarch's charms
Could ne'er confine one woman to his arms,
What strange mysterious spell, what strong defence,
Can guard that front which has not half his sense?
Poor Sedley's fall ev'n her own sex deplore,
Who with so small temptation turn'd thy whore.
But Grafton bravely does revenge her fate,
And says thou court'st her thirty years too late;
She scorns such dwindles; her capacious a---
Is fitter for thy scepter than thy t---.
As free from danger, as from wit 'tis free;
But if that good and gracious Monarch's charms
Could ne'er confine one woman to his arms,
What strange mysterious spell, what strong defence,
Can guard that front which has not half his sense?
Poor Sedley's fall ev'n her own sex deplore,
Who with so small temptation turn'd thy whore.
But Grafton bravely does revenge her fate,
And says thou court'st her thirty years too late;
She scorns such dwindles; her capacious a---
Is fitter for thy scepter than thy t---.
Old Dover, Shrewsbury, and Mordaunt know
Why in that stately frame she lies so low;
And who but her dull blockhead would have found
Her window's small descent on rising ground?
Thro' the large sash they pass, like Jove of old,
To her attendant bawd, in show'rs of gold.
Why in that stately frame she lies so low;
And who but her dull blockhead would have found
Her window's small descent on rising ground?
Thro' the large sash they pass, like Jove of old,
To her attendant bawd, in show'rs of gold.
Mordaunt, that insolent, ill-natur'd bear,
From the close grotto, when no danger's near,
Mounts like a rampant stag, and ruts his dear.
But when by dire mischance the harmless maid
In the dark closet, with loud shrieks, betray'd
The naked lecher, what a woful grief
It was! Th'adult'ress flew to his relief,
And sav'd his being murder'd for a thief.
Defenceless limbs the well-arm'd host assail'd;
Scarce her own pray're with her own slaves prevail'd.
Though well prepar'd for flight he mourn'd his weight
And begg'd Actaeon's change to 'scape Actaeon's fate;
But wing'd with fear, tho' untransform'd, he bounds,
And swift as hinds outstrips the yelling hounds.
From the close grotto, when no danger's near,
Mounts like a rampant stag, and ruts his dear.
But when by dire mischance the harmless maid
In the dark closet, with loud shrieks, betray'd
The naked lecher, what a woful grief
139
And sav'd his being murder'd for a thief.
Defenceless limbs the well-arm'd host assail'd;
Scarce her own pray're with her own slaves prevail'd.
Though well prepar'd for flight he mourn'd his weight
And begg'd Actaeon's change to 'scape Actaeon's fate;
But wing'd with fear, tho' untransform'd, he bounds,
And swift as hinds outstrips the yelling hounds.
Beware adulterers, betimes beware,
You fall not in the same unhappy snare:
From Norfolk's ruin, and his narrow 'scape,
Swive on contented with a willing rape,
On a strong chair, soft couch, or side of bed,
Which never does surprising dangers dread.
Let no such harlots lead your steps astray;
Her c--- will mount in open day,
And from St. James's to the land of Thule,
There's not a whore who spends so like a mule.
Yet who, to tell the truth, cou'd less have swiv'd
Whose c--- was from such lecherous states deriv'd?
For 'twas the custom of her ancient race
To f--- with any fool in any place.
And yet her blund'ring dolt deserves a worse;
Could man be plagu'd with a severer curse?
A meeter couple never sure were hatch'd;
Some marry'd are indeed, but they are match'd.
The sodomite complains of too much room,
And for an a--- disdains her spacious womb.
A common bulker is his chief delight,
And they in conscience ought to do him right,
And as c--- spends, a--- when well pleas'd shou'd shite.
But seeing they are lawful man and wife,
Why should the fool and drazel live in strife,
While they both lead the same lascivious life?
Or why should he to Megg's or Southcott's roam,
When he may find as great a whore at home?
You fall not in the same unhappy snare:
From Norfolk's ruin, and his narrow 'scape,
Swive on contented with a willing rape,
On a strong chair, soft couch, or side of bed,
Which never does surprising dangers dread.
Let no such harlots lead your steps astray;
Her c--- will mount in open day,
And from St. James's to the land of Thule,
There's not a whore who spends so like a mule.
Yet who, to tell the truth, cou'd less have swiv'd
Whose c--- was from such lecherous states deriv'd?
For 'twas the custom of her ancient race
To f--- with any fool in any place.
And yet her blund'ring dolt deserves a worse;
Could man be plagu'd with a severer curse?
A meeter couple never sure were hatch'd;
Some marry'd are indeed, but they are match'd.
The sodomite complains of too much room,
And for an a--- disdains her spacious womb.
A common bulker is his chief delight,
And they in conscience ought to do him right,
And as c--- spends, a--- when well pleas'd shou'd shite.
But seeing they are lawful man and wife,
Why should the fool and drazel live in strife,
While they both lead the same lascivious life?
Or why should he to Megg's or Southcott's roam,
When he may find as great a whore at home?
140
Mulgrave, who all his summons to big war
Safely commits to his wise Prince's care,
Lords it o'er all mankind, and is the first
By woman hated and by man accurs'd.
Well has his staff a double use supply'd,
At once upheld his body and his pride.
How haughtily he cries: “Page, fetch a whore;
Damn her, she's ugly; rascal, fetch me more;
Bring in that black-ey'd wench; woman, come near;
Rot you, you draggled bitch, what is't you fear?”
Trembling she comes, and with as little flame,
As he for the dear part from whence he came.
But by the help of an assisting thumb
Squeezes his chitterling into her bum;
And if it prove a straight, well-spincter'd a---,
Perhaps it rears a little his feeble t---.
But if one drop of vital juice it shed,
Help him, good Jove, for both sides then are dead.
Safely commits to his wise Prince's care,
Lords it o'er all mankind, and is the first
By woman hated and by man accurs'd.
Well has his staff a double use supply'd,
At once upheld his body and his pride.
How haughtily he cries: “Page, fetch a whore;
Damn her, she's ugly; rascal, fetch me more;
Bring in that black-ey'd wench; woman, come near;
Rot you, you draggled bitch, what is't you fear?”
Trembling she comes, and with as little flame,
As he for the dear part from whence he came.
But by the help of an assisting thumb
Squeezes his chitterling into her bum;
And if it prove a straight, well-spincter'd a---,
Perhaps it rears a little his feeble t---.
But if one drop of vital juice it shed,
Help him, good Jove, for both sides then are dead.
Thine, crafty Seymour, was a good design;
For sure his issue ne'er will injure thine:
But thou thy self must needs confess that she
Does justly curse thy politics and thee.
Her noble Protestant has got a flail,
Young, large, and fit to feague her briny tail;
But now, poor wretch, she lies as she would burst,
Sometimes with brandy, and sometimes with lust.
Tho' prime as goats, she courts in vain her drone:
The frigid he, and she the torrid zone.
Both friend and foe he with vast ruin mauls,
Who at first thrust before, both sexes falls.
Had I, Oh! had I his transcendent verse,
In his own lofty strains I would rehearse
That deep intrigue, when he the Princess woo'd,
But lov'd adult'ry more than royal blood.
Young Ossory, who lov'd the haughty peer,
Her mother's darling sins could best declare.
But to her memory we must be just;
'Tis sacrilege to rob such beauteous dust.
For sure his issue ne'er will injure thine:
But thou thy self must needs confess that she
Does justly curse thy politics and thee.
Her noble Protestant has got a flail,
Young, large, and fit to feague her briny tail;
But now, poor wretch, she lies as she would burst,
Sometimes with brandy, and sometimes with lust.
Tho' prime as goats, she courts in vain her drone:
The frigid he, and she the torrid zone.
Both friend and foe he with vast ruin mauls,
Who at first thrust before, both sexes falls.
Had I, Oh! had I his transcendent verse,
In his own lofty strains I would rehearse
That deep intrigue, when he the Princess woo'd,
But lov'd adult'ry more than royal blood.
Young Ossory, who lov'd the haughty peer,
Her mother's darling sins could best declare.
141
'Tis sacrilege to rob such beauteous dust.
O Wharton, Wharton! what a wretched tool
Is a dull wit, when made a woman's fool?
Thy rammish spendthrift buttocks, 'tis well known,
Her nauseous bait has made thee swallow down,
Tho' mumbled and spit out by half the town.
How well, my honest Lexington, she knows
The many mansions in thy f---ing house!
How often prais'd thy dear curvetting t---,
Which thou rid'st curb'd, like an unruly horse!
That crooked martyr, which most c--- would flout,
Turns her lascivious matrix inside out.
Pleas'd with the novelty, she freely spends,
And turns and winds which way soe'er it bends.
How big with joy she went with thee to church,
When thou, false varlet, left her in the lurch!
Ev'n Elliot, who refus'd none before,
Scorn'd to pronounce the banns with such a whore.
To Pancras, Tom, there such as she resort
(That mother church too does all sinners court).
As she has been thy strumpet all her life,
'Tis time to make her now thy lawful wife,
That Bulkeley's spouse may pride it in the box,
With face and c--- all martyr'd with the pox.
In some deep sawpit both their noddles hide,
For 'tis hard guessing which has the best bride.
Is a dull wit, when made a woman's fool?
Thy rammish spendthrift buttocks, 'tis well known,
Her nauseous bait has made thee swallow down,
Tho' mumbled and spit out by half the town.
How well, my honest Lexington, she knows
The many mansions in thy f---ing house!
How often prais'd thy dear curvetting t---,
Which thou rid'st curb'd, like an unruly horse!
That crooked martyr, which most c--- would flout,
Turns her lascivious matrix inside out.
Pleas'd with the novelty, she freely spends,
And turns and winds which way soe'er it bends.
How big with joy she went with thee to church,
When thou, false varlet, left her in the lurch!
Ev'n Elliot, who refus'd none before,
Scorn'd to pronounce the banns with such a whore.
To Pancras, Tom, there such as she resort
(That mother church too does all sinners court).
As she has been thy strumpet all her life,
'Tis time to make her now thy lawful wife,
That Bulkeley's spouse may pride it in the box,
With face and c--- all martyr'd with the pox.
In some deep sawpit both their noddles hide,
For 'tis hard guessing which has the best bride.
Ah Tom! thy brother like a prudent man,
Has chosen the much better harridan;
She, a good-natur'd candid devil, shows
Him all the bawding, jilting tricks she knows.
Thy rook some trivial cheats her blockhead learns,
While he the master hocus he'er discerns.
To pox and plague, oh! may she subject be,
As she's from childbed pain and peril free:
Her actual sins invalidate the first;
With ease she teems and brings forth unaccurst.
To thee, Lucina, she need never call;
Like ripen'd fruit, her mellow bastards fall;
And what with needless labor I disclose,
Her well-stretched c--- and rivell'd belly shows.
Has chosen the much better harridan;
She, a good-natur'd candid devil, shows
Him all the bawding, jilting tricks she knows.
Thy rook some trivial cheats her blockhead learns,
While he the master hocus he'er discerns.
To pox and plague, oh! may she subject be,
As she's from childbed pain and peril free:
Her actual sins invalidate the first;
142
To thee, Lucina, she need never call;
Like ripen'd fruit, her mellow bastards fall;
And what with needless labor I disclose,
Her well-stretched c--- and rivell'd belly shows.
Whoever, like Charles Dering, scorns disgrace,
Can never want, altho' he lose his place:
That toothless murd'rer, to his just reproach,
Pimps for his sister to maintain a coach,
And let what will the church or state befall,
One fulsome crafty whore maintains 'em all.
Can never want, altho' he lose his place:
That toothless murd'rer, to his just reproach,
Pimps for his sister to maintain a coach,
And let what will the church or state befall,
One fulsome crafty whore maintains 'em all.
Scarsdale, tho' loath'd, still the fair sex adores,
And has a regiment of horse and whores.
Amidst the common rout of early duns
For mustard, soap, milk, small coal, swords, and guns,
Two rev'rend officers (more highly born)
Wait on his stinking levee ev'ry morn,
And in full pomp his palace gates adorn.
But which is most in vogue is hard to tell,
The public bawd or private sentinel;
That blubber'd oaf, for two dull dribbling bouts,
Maintains two bastards made of Jenny's clouts.
E'er it could fetch, 'twas like pox'd Eland spoil'd,
Yet it can't touch a wench, but she's with child;
But who can think that pestilential breath
Should raise up life that always blasts with death?
And has a regiment of horse and whores.
Amidst the common rout of early duns
For mustard, soap, milk, small coal, swords, and guns,
Two rev'rend officers (more highly born)
Wait on his stinking levee ev'ry morn,
And in full pomp his palace gates adorn.
But which is most in vogue is hard to tell,
The public bawd or private sentinel;
That blubber'd oaf, for two dull dribbling bouts,
Maintains two bastards made of Jenny's clouts.
E'er it could fetch, 'twas like pox'd Eland spoil'd,
Yet it can't touch a wench, but she's with child;
But who can think that pestilential breath
Should raise up life that always blasts with death?
'Tis strange Kildare, that refin'd beau garcon,
Was never yet at the Bell Savage shown,
For he's a true and wonderful baboon.
It therefore wisely was at first design'd
He ne'er should like to propagate his kind,
But the dull-venom'd draught in vain employ'd,
Like the false serpent's, was itself destroy'd.
With foul corruption sure he first was fed,
And by equivocal generation bred.
An honest solan goose, compar'd to him,
Is a fine creature and of more esteem.
No learn'd philosophers need strive to know
Whether his soul's ex traduce or no.
He has none yet, nor never will, I fear:
No soul of sense would ever enter there.
Tho' Talbot, that young sodomite, they say
With t--- and carrot well inlarg'd the way;
With painfull look he grins, as if the fool
Were always squeezing for a costive stool:
I wonder he dares speak, for fear we firk
His lazy bones and make the monkey work.
Swive on, my fair adult'ress, you do well,
For who would not loathe him much more than Hell?
F--- with some true wild Irish fool, or brim
With savage boars rather than lie with him.
If aged Devonshire has left the trade
And had enough of costly masquerade,
With renew'd flames your old amour pursue,
Now Rochester has nothing else to do.
Well done, old Hyde, we all thy choice adore,
She is the younger and much better whore.
Was never yet at the Bell Savage shown,
For he's a true and wonderful baboon.
It therefore wisely was at first design'd
He ne'er should like to propagate his kind,
But the dull-venom'd draught in vain employ'd,
Like the false serpent's, was itself destroy'd.
With foul corruption sure he first was fed,
And by equivocal generation bred.
An honest solan goose, compar'd to him,
143
No learn'd philosophers need strive to know
Whether his soul's ex traduce or no.
He has none yet, nor never will, I fear:
No soul of sense would ever enter there.
Tho' Talbot, that young sodomite, they say
With t--- and carrot well inlarg'd the way;
With painfull look he grins, as if the fool
Were always squeezing for a costive stool:
I wonder he dares speak, for fear we firk
His lazy bones and make the monkey work.
Swive on, my fair adult'ress, you do well,
For who would not loathe him much more than Hell?
F--- with some true wild Irish fool, or brim
With savage boars rather than lie with him.
If aged Devonshire has left the trade
And had enough of costly masquerade,
With renew'd flames your old amour pursue,
Now Rochester has nothing else to do.
Well done, old Hyde, we all thy choice adore,
She is the younger and much better whore.
But Hales has sure, to his eternal curse,
Left his own strumpet and espous'd a worse.
That blazing star still rises with the sun,
And will, I hope, whene'er it sets, go down.
St. Peter ne'er deny'd his Lord but thrice,
But good St. Edward scorns to be so nice;
He, ev'ry mass, abjures what he before
On tests and sacraments so often swore.
His mother church will have a special son,
Of him, by whom his father was undone.
He turn'd, because on bread alone he'd dine,
And make the wafer save his bread and wine.
Mammon's the God he'll worship any way,
And keeps conviction ready to a day.
Forbid it, Heav'n, I e'er should live to see
Our pious Monarch's gorgeous chapel be
Filled with such miscreant proselytes as he.
Left his own strumpet and espous'd a worse.
That blazing star still rises with the sun,
And will, I hope, whene'er it sets, go down.
St. Peter ne'er deny'd his Lord but thrice,
But good St. Edward scorns to be so nice;
He, ev'ry mass, abjures what he before
On tests and sacraments so often swore.
His mother church will have a special son,
Of him, by whom his father was undone.
He turn'd, because on bread alone he'd dine,
And make the wafer save his bread and wine.
Mammon's the God he'll worship any way,
And keeps conviction ready to a day.
Forbid it, Heav'n, I e'er should live to see
144
Filled with such miscreant proselytes as he.
Miserere Domine! Ave Maria!
Poor Father Dover has got a gonorrhea.
Was e'er, dread James, so much affection shown?
He'd save thy soul, but cares not for his own.
How Sedley prays that old adult'rous fop
May find it a Carnegan-swingeing clap!
And sure 'twill in the bones and marrow stick,
And must be damnable to soul and p---,
The pocky jade was a damn'd heretick.
Poor Father Dover has got a gonorrhea.
Was e'er, dread James, so much affection shown?
He'd save thy soul, but cares not for his own.
How Sedley prays that old adult'rous fop
May find it a Carnegan-swingeing clap!
And sure 'twill in the bones and marrow stick,
And must be damnable to soul and p---,
The pocky jade was a damn'd heretick.
“God's Wounds, God's Blood! our family's beshit,”
Quoth Winchester, “but I'll be drunk at night.”
Unhappy maid! who man has never known,
And yet with perilous pangs brought forth a son!
Rejoice, ye slavish tribe of later Jews;
Sound in your synagogues the blessed news:
A new messiah is at last arriv'd
From an unspotted womb that ne'er was swiv'd.
Our chiro-medico Didymus nothing smelt,
'Till he the sprawling bantling heard and felt.
And now it surely cannot be deny'd
By him who cur'd the King of what he dy'd.
Quoth Winchester, “but I'll be drunk at night.”
Unhappy maid! who man has never known,
And yet with perilous pangs brought forth a son!
Rejoice, ye slavish tribe of later Jews;
Sound in your synagogues the blessed news:
A new messiah is at last arriv'd
From an unspotted womb that ne'er was swiv'd.
Our chiro-medico Didymus nothing smelt,
'Till he the sprawling bantling heard and felt.
And now it surely cannot be deny'd
By him who cur'd the King of what he dy'd.
How Herbert boasts that his wise king's-head crew
Foretold the dismal times we all should rue.
Curs'd be the screech owls! that rebellious crowd
Presag'd, indeed, Rome's swift approach, as loud,
As wise Cassandra's boding voice of old,
The wretched fate of ancient Rome foretold.
But why is he against the bringing in
Any religion that indulges sin?
He who his other charges can retrench
To save ten guineas for a handsome wench;
Or be content to part with twenty pound,
If Mrs. Wright insure her being sound.
That idiot thinks the tawdry harlot's glad
To serve him now for favors she has had.
But who, dear Harry, ever heard before
Of gratitude in any common whore?
She mounts the price and goes half snack herself,
And well knows how to cully such an elf.
Foretold the dismal times we all should rue.
Curs'd be the screech owls! that rebellious crowd
Presag'd, indeed, Rome's swift approach, as loud,
As wise Cassandra's boding voice of old,
The wretched fate of ancient Rome foretold.
But why is he against the bringing in
Any religion that indulges sin?
He who his other charges can retrench
To save ten guineas for a handsome wench;
Or be content to part with twenty pound,
If Mrs. Wright insure her being sound.
That idiot thinks the tawdry harlot's glad
145
But who, dear Harry, ever heard before
Of gratitude in any common whore?
She mounts the price and goes half snack herself,
And well knows how to cully such an elf.
Poor Jenny I must needs much more applaud,
A better whore, and truer friend and bawd.
Like the French King, he all his conquests buys,
And pow'rful guineas still subdue their eyes.
How his smug little black-ey'd harlot gaz'd
On's broad gold, and fine apartments prais'd!
But f---'d, not trusting to the miser's truth,
Like Joseph's sacks, with money in her mouth;
Sometimes he'll venture for himself to trade,
With awkward grace, at balls and masquerade.
But what was the proud coxcomb e'er the near,
Unless he got my Lady Gerard there?
Her qualities to all the world are known,
Fair as his kin, and honest as her own.
She makes her brothel worse than common stews,
And loves to swive in her own tribe, like Jews:
Incest with nearest blood, adult'ry, all
Her darling sins, we may well deadly call.
Whate'er in times of yore she may have been,
Her lust has now parch'd up her rivell'd skin.
Thou town of Edmonton, I charge, declare
What she and Wolseley did so often there.
That scribbling fool, who writes to her in metre,
And only speaks his songs to make 'em sweeter:
Great Virgil's true reverse in sense and fate,
For what another writ procur'd his hate.
To be but thought a wit, he lost his place;
And yet to show he is not of that race,
Will write himself, and add to his disgrace.
His Valentinian's learned preface shines,
Like Memphis' siege or Bulloigne's radiant lines.
Among the muses all his time he spends,
And his whole study tow'rds Parnassus bends:
Yet if for his, one handsome thought be shown,
Stop the dull thief—I'll swear 'tis not his own.
Satire's his joy, but if he don't improve,
Give me his hatred, let her take his love.
That fop she, Herbert, more than thee admires;
He oftener quenches her lascivious fires.
In vain poor Harry, with ridic'lous joy,
Shews her and ev'ry fool his hopeful boy.
His city songstress says he keeps such pother
She's sure he'll ne'er be able to get another.
Join then, propitious stars, their widow'd store,
And make them happy, as they were before;
That is, may the decay'd incestuous punk
Swill like his spouse, and he, like hers, die drunk.
A better whore, and truer friend and bawd.
Like the French King, he all his conquests buys,
And pow'rful guineas still subdue their eyes.
How his smug little black-ey'd harlot gaz'd
On's broad gold, and fine apartments prais'd!
But f---'d, not trusting to the miser's truth,
Like Joseph's sacks, with money in her mouth;
Sometimes he'll venture for himself to trade,
With awkward grace, at balls and masquerade.
But what was the proud coxcomb e'er the near,
Unless he got my Lady Gerard there?
Her qualities to all the world are known,
Fair as his kin, and honest as her own.
She makes her brothel worse than common stews,
And loves to swive in her own tribe, like Jews:
Incest with nearest blood, adult'ry, all
Her darling sins, we may well deadly call.
Whate'er in times of yore she may have been,
Her lust has now parch'd up her rivell'd skin.
Thou town of Edmonton, I charge, declare
What she and Wolseley did so often there.
That scribbling fool, who writes to her in metre,
And only speaks his songs to make 'em sweeter:
Great Virgil's true reverse in sense and fate,
For what another writ procur'd his hate.
To be but thought a wit, he lost his place;
And yet to show he is not of that race,
Will write himself, and add to his disgrace.
His Valentinian's learned preface shines,
Like Memphis' siege or Bulloigne's radiant lines.
146
And his whole study tow'rds Parnassus bends:
Yet if for his, one handsome thought be shown,
Stop the dull thief—I'll swear 'tis not his own.
Satire's his joy, but if he don't improve,
Give me his hatred, let her take his love.
That fop she, Herbert, more than thee admires;
He oftener quenches her lascivious fires.
In vain poor Harry, with ridic'lous joy,
Shews her and ev'ry fool his hopeful boy.
His city songstress says he keeps such pother
She's sure he'll ne'er be able to get another.
Join then, propitious stars, their widow'd store,
And make them happy, as they were before;
That is, may the decay'd incestuous punk
Swill like his spouse, and he, like hers, die drunk.
Why, Houghton, has the good old Queen the grace,
To see thy bearlike mien and baboon face?
Her Court, the gods be prais'd, has long been free
From Irish prigs and such dull sots as thee.
The wakeful gen'ral, conscious of thy charms,
Dreads thine, as much as Monmouth's fierce alarms.
Yet sure there is a greater ditch between
A greasy Whiggish dolt and Charles's Queen.
There is, and Houghton soars not yet so high,
His ogling pigsnies gloat on Lady Di.
That gudgeon on soft baits will only bite,
For easy conquests are his sole delight.
And none can say but that his judgment's good,
For all the Kirkes are made of flesh and blood.
To see thy bearlike mien and baboon face?
Her Court, the gods be prais'd, has long been free
From Irish prigs and such dull sots as thee.
The wakeful gen'ral, conscious of thy charms,
Dreads thine, as much as Monmouth's fierce alarms.
Yet sure there is a greater ditch between
A greasy Whiggish dolt and Charles's Queen.
There is, and Houghton soars not yet so high,
His ogling pigsnies gloat on Lady Di.
That gudgeon on soft baits will only bite,
For easy conquests are his sole delight.
And none can say but that his judgment's good,
For all the Kirkes are made of flesh and blood.
Vernon, the glory of that lustful tribe,
Scorns to be meanly purchas'd with a bribe:
To fame and honor hates to be a slave,
But freely gives what nature freely gave.
Like heirs to crowns with sure credentials born,
Her hasty bastards private entries scorn;
In midst of courts and in the midst of day,
With little peril force their easy way.
But Woodford is, methinks, a better seat,
And for distended wems a safe retreat.
'Twas well advised old Kirk no dangers fear'd;
No groans, nor yelling cries, can there be heard:
In this lewd town and these censorious times,
Where ev'ry whore rails at each other's crimes,
Fair Theodosia! thy romantic name
Had sure been blasted with eternal shame:
But thy wise strategems so well were laid,
I'd almost swear thou art a very maid.
Go on, and scorn our common swiving rules;
Let Warcup make th'incestuous uncles fools:
While prudence pimps, and such a foe combines,
Impregnate more and more thy seedy loins;
Thou still art safe, tho' thy large womb should bear
Like hers, who teem'd for ev'ry day o'th' year.
Scorns to be meanly purchas'd with a bribe:
To fame and honor hates to be a slave,
But freely gives what nature freely gave.
Like heirs to crowns with sure credentials born,
Her hasty bastards private entries scorn;
147
With little peril force their easy way.
But Woodford is, methinks, a better seat,
And for distended wems a safe retreat.
'Twas well advised old Kirk no dangers fear'd;
No groans, nor yelling cries, can there be heard:
In this lewd town and these censorious times,
Where ev'ry whore rails at each other's crimes,
Fair Theodosia! thy romantic name
Had sure been blasted with eternal shame:
But thy wise strategems so well were laid,
I'd almost swear thou art a very maid.
Go on, and scorn our common swiving rules;
Let Warcup make th'incestuous uncles fools:
While prudence pimps, and such a foe combines,
Impregnate more and more thy seedy loins;
Thou still art safe, tho' thy large womb should bear
Like hers, who teem'd for ev'ry day o'th' year.
Proud Oxford justly thinks her Dutch-built shape
A little too unwieldy for a rape.
Yet being conscious it will tumble down,
At first assault surrenders up the town.
But no kind conqueror has yet thought fit
To make it his belov'd imperial seat.
That batter'd fort, which they with ease deceive,
Pillag'd and sack'd, to the next foe they leave.
And haughty Di in just revenge will lig,
Altho' she starve, with any senseless Whig;
Not that to any principle she's firm,
But is debauch'd by damn'd seducing sperm.
Sidney well knew the banning hour, when seven,
God's Wounds! throws out, or else God's Blood! eleven:
When her decrepit spendthrift, troopless rook,
Is meek as Moses hid in fire and smoke.
Our Sacred Writ does learnedly relate,
For one poor babe two mothers hot debate:
But our two doughty heroes, I am told,
Which is the truest father, fiercely scold.
Both claims seem just and great, but gen'rous Hales,
Who always is on the right side, prevails.
He will not only save his life, but soul;
So poor Phil Kirke is fubb'd off for a fool.
But 'tis all one; Sir Courtly Nice does swear
He'll go to Mrs. Grace of Exeter.
A little too unwieldy for a rape.
Yet being conscious it will tumble down,
At first assault surrenders up the town.
But no kind conqueror has yet thought fit
To make it his belov'd imperial seat.
That batter'd fort, which they with ease deceive,
Pillag'd and sack'd, to the next foe they leave.
And haughty Di in just revenge will lig,
Altho' she starve, with any senseless Whig;
Not that to any principle she's firm,
But is debauch'd by damn'd seducing sperm.
Sidney well knew the banning hour, when seven,
God's Wounds! throws out, or else God's Blood! eleven:
When her decrepit spendthrift, troopless rook,
Is meek as Moses hid in fire and smoke.
Our Sacred Writ does learnedly relate,
For one poor babe two mothers hot debate:
148
Which is the truest father, fiercely scold.
Both claims seem just and great, but gen'rous Hales,
Who always is on the right side, prevails.
He will not only save his life, but soul;
So poor Phil Kirke is fubb'd off for a fool.
But 'tis all one; Sir Courtly Nice does swear
He'll go to Mrs. Grace of Exeter.
But why to Ireland, Braithwaite? Will that clime,
Dost thou imagine, make an easy time?
Ungratefully indeed thou did'st requite
The skilful goddess of the silent night,
By whose kind help thou wast so oft before
Deliver'd safely on thy native shore.
Thy belly shin'd, and an unusual load
Made thee believe Kirke's shoulder's were too broad.
And thou'dst be sure we should not hear thee roar:
And if poor tuzzy muzzy should be tore,
Wisely resolv'd Ned should ne'er see it more:
But since all's well, return, that we may laugh
At Irish c---s, which in all climes are safe.
Dost thou imagine, make an easy time?
Ungratefully indeed thou did'st requite
The skilful goddess of the silent night,
By whose kind help thou wast so oft before
Deliver'd safely on thy native shore.
Thy belly shin'd, and an unusual load
Made thee believe Kirke's shoulder's were too broad.
And thou'dst be sure we should not hear thee roar:
And if poor tuzzy muzzy should be tore,
Wisely resolv'd Ned should ne'er see it more:
But since all's well, return, that we may laugh
At Irish c---s, which in all climes are safe.
Justly, false Monmouth, did thy lord declare,
Thou should'st not in his crown nor empire share.
Indeed, dear Limp, it was a just design,
Seeing he had so small a share of thine.
Brave Feversham, that thund'ring son of arms,
With pow'rful magic conquer'd both your charms.
Virtue, thy weak lieutenant, ran away,
Just like that cursed miscreant, coward Gray;
And as poor James from his new subjects did,
At last from thy fair breast the gen'ral fled.
His conversation, wit, and parts, and mien
Deserv'd, he thought, at least a widow'd queen.
Nor wert thou sorry, since most seeds are found
To flourish better when we change the ground.
He, struck in years and spent in toils and war,
Could please thee less than did the strong Dunbar:
Ne'er was a truer stallion; to his cost,
He, as he was most able, lov'd thee most.
But politic Monmouth thought it too much grace
For one t'enjoy too long so great a place.
Cornwallis next succeeds the lovely train,
And round his neck displays a captive's chain:
He, greater fool than any of the rest,
They say, will marry with the trimming beast;
Which if he does, Oh! may his blood be shed
On that high throne where her last traytor bled.
Thou should'st not in his crown nor empire share.
Indeed, dear Limp, it was a just design,
Seeing he had so small a share of thine.
Brave Feversham, that thund'ring son of arms,
With pow'rful magic conquer'd both your charms.
Virtue, thy weak lieutenant, ran away,
Just like that cursed miscreant, coward Gray;
And as poor James from his new subjects did,
At last from thy fair breast the gen'ral fled.
His conversation, wit, and parts, and mien
Deserv'd, he thought, at least a widow'd queen.
Nor wert thou sorry, since most seeds are found
To flourish better when we change the ground.
He, struck in years and spent in toils and war,
149
Ne'er was a truer stallion; to his cost,
He, as he was most able, lov'd thee most.
But politic Monmouth thought it too much grace
For one t'enjoy too long so great a place.
Cornwallis next succeeds the lovely train,
And round his neck displays a captive's chain:
He, greater fool than any of the rest,
They say, will marry with the trimming beast;
Which if he does, Oh! may his blood be shed
On that high throne where her last traytor bled.
Mysterious pow'rs! what wond'rous influence
Governs, ye ruling stars, poor mortal's sense?
What unknown motive our dread King persuades,
To make lewd Ogle mother of the maids.
The gracious Prince had sure much wiser been,
Had he made Stamford tutress to the Queen;
And then, perhaps, her chaste instructions wou'd
Have sav'd a world of unbegotten blood.
But pious James, with parts profound endu'd,
Will none prefer but whom he knows are lewd.
Sophia, Belasyse and all the court breed,
Ladies of wond'rous honor are indeed.
Ye scoundrel nymphs, whom rags and scabs adorn,
Than that small paltry whore more highly born,
If you are wise, apply yourselves betimes:
None highly merit now but by their crimes.
And the King does whate'er he's bid by Grimes.
Governs, ye ruling stars, poor mortal's sense?
What unknown motive our dread King persuades,
To make lewd Ogle mother of the maids.
The gracious Prince had sure much wiser been,
Had he made Stamford tutress to the Queen;
And then, perhaps, her chaste instructions wou'd
Have sav'd a world of unbegotten blood.
But pious James, with parts profound endu'd,
Will none prefer but whom he knows are lewd.
Sophia, Belasyse and all the court breed,
Ladies of wond'rous honor are indeed.
Ye scoundrel nymphs, whom rags and scabs adorn,
Than that small paltry whore more highly born,
If you are wise, apply yourselves betimes:
None highly merit now but by their crimes.
And the King does whate'er he's bid by Grimes.
Which made the wiser choice is now our strife,
Hoyle his he-mistress or the Prince his wife:
Those traders sure will be belov'd as well
As all the dainty, tender birds they sell.
The learned advocate, that rugged stump
Of old Nol's honor, always lov'd the Rump;
And 'tis no miracle, since all the Hoyles
Were giv'n, they say, to raise intestine broils.
But seeing, to the upright juror's praise,
We are return'd to Ignoramus days,
The lawyer swears he greater hazard runs,
Who f--- one daughter than a hundred sons.
Hoyle his he-mistress or the Prince his wife:
Those traders sure will be belov'd as well
As all the dainty, tender birds they sell.
The learned advocate, that rugged stump
Of old Nol's honor, always lov'd the Rump;
And 'tis no miracle, since all the Hoyles
Were giv'n, they say, to raise intestine broils.
150
We are return'd to Ignoramus days,
The lawyer swears he greater hazard runs,
Who f--- one daughter than a hundred sons.
Prepost'rous fate! while poor Miss Jenny bawds,
Each foreign fop her mother's charms applauds.
Autumnal whore! to ev'ry nation known!
A curse to them and scandal to her own.
Forgive me, chaster Hinton, if I name
Her stinking toes with thine of sweeter fame.
Thou wond'rous pocky art and wond'rous poor,
But as she's richer, she's a greater whore.
What with her breath, her armpits, and her feet,
Ten civet cats can hardly make her sweet.
From all the corners of our noisome town,
The filth of ev'ry brute ran freely down
To that insatiate strumpet's common shore,
'Till it broke out and poison'd her all o'er.
Poor Buckingham in unsuccessful verse
And terms too mild did her lewd crimes rehearse:
Bold is the man that ventures such a flight;
Her life's a satire, which no pen can write:
And therefore cursed may she ever be,
As when old Hyde was catch'd with rem in re.
Each foreign fop her mother's charms applauds.
Autumnal whore! to ev'ry nation known!
A curse to them and scandal to her own.
Forgive me, chaster Hinton, if I name
Her stinking toes with thine of sweeter fame.
Thou wond'rous pocky art and wond'rous poor,
But as she's richer, she's a greater whore.
What with her breath, her armpits, and her feet,
Ten civet cats can hardly make her sweet.
From all the corners of our noisome town,
The filth of ev'ry brute ran freely down
To that insatiate strumpet's common shore,
'Till it broke out and poison'd her all o'er.
Poor Buckingham in unsuccessful verse
And terms too mild did her lewd crimes rehearse:
Bold is the man that ventures such a flight;
Her life's a satire, which no pen can write:
And therefore cursed may she ever be,
As when old Hyde was catch'd with rem in re.
Caetera desunt.
| The Poems of Charles Sackville | |