The Poems of Charles Sackville Sixth Earl of Dorset: Edited by Brice Harris |
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VI. Court and Town
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 | The Poems of Charles Sackville |  |
103
VI. Court and Town
105
Four Letters in Verse between Dorset and Etherege
A Letter from the Lord Buckhurst to Mr. George Etherege
Dreaming last night on Mrs. Farley,
My p--- was up this morning early;
And I was fain without my gown
To rise in th'cold to get him down.
Hard shift, alas, but yet a sure,
Although it be no pleasing cure.
Of old the fair Egyptian slattern,
For luxury that had no pattern,
To fortify her Roman swinger,
Instead of nutmeg, mace and ginger,
Did spice his bowels (as story tells)
With warts of rocks and spawn of shells.
It had been happy for her Grace,
Had I been in the rascal's place;
I, who do scorn that any stone
Shou'd raise my pintle but my own,
Had laid her down on every couch
And sav'd her pearl and diamond brooch
Until her hot-tail'd Majesty,
Being happily reclaim'd by me
From all her wild expensive ways,
Had worn her gems on holidays.
But since her c--- has long done itching,
Let us discourse of modern bitching.
My p--- was up this morning early;
And I was fain without my gown
To rise in th'cold to get him down.
Hard shift, alas, but yet a sure,
Although it be no pleasing cure.
Of old the fair Egyptian slattern,
For luxury that had no pattern,
106
Instead of nutmeg, mace and ginger,
Did spice his bowels (as story tells)
With warts of rocks and spawn of shells.
It had been happy for her Grace,
Had I been in the rascal's place;
I, who do scorn that any stone
Shou'd raise my pintle but my own,
Had laid her down on every couch
And sav'd her pearl and diamond brooch
Until her hot-tail'd Majesty,
Being happily reclaim'd by me
From all her wild expensive ways,
Had worn her gems on holidays.
But since her c--- has long done itching,
Let us discourse of modern bitching.
I must entreat you by this letter,
To inquire for whores, the more the better.
Hunger makes any man a glutton;
If Roberts, Thomas, Mrs. Dutton,
Or any other bawds of note,
Inform of a fresh petticoat,
Inquire, I pray, with friendly care,
Where their respective lodgings are.
Some do compare a man t'a bark—
A pretty metaphor, pray mark—
And with a long and tedious story,
Will all the tackling lay before ye:
The sails are hope, the masts desire,
Till they the gentlest reader tire.
But howsoe'er they keep a pudder,
I'm sure the pintle is the rudder:
The pow'rful rudder, which of force
To town will shortly steer my course.
And if you do not there provide
A port where I may safely ride,
Landing in haste, in some foul creek,
'Tis ten to one I spring a leak.
To inquire for whores, the more the better.
Hunger makes any man a glutton;
If Roberts, Thomas, Mrs. Dutton,
Or any other bawds of note,
Inform of a fresh petticoat,
Inquire, I pray, with friendly care,
Where their respective lodgings are.
Some do compare a man t'a bark—
A pretty metaphor, pray mark—
And with a long and tedious story,
Will all the tackling lay before ye:
The sails are hope, the masts desire,
Till they the gentlest reader tire.
But howsoe'er they keep a pudder,
I'm sure the pintle is the rudder:
The pow'rful rudder, which of force
To town will shortly steer my course.
And if you do not there provide
A port where I may safely ride,
107
'Tis ten to one I spring a leak.
Next, I must make it my request,
If you have any interest,
Or can be any means discover
Some lamentable rhyming lover,
Who shall in numbers harsh and vile,
His mistress “Nymph” or “Goddess” style,
Send all his labors down to me
By the first opportunity.
If you have any interest,
Or can be any means discover
Some lamentable rhyming lover,
Who shall in numbers harsh and vile,
His mistress “Nymph” or “Goddess” style,
Send all his labors down to me
By the first opportunity.
Or any Knights of your Round Table,
To other scribblers formidable,
Guilty themselves of the same crime,
Dress nonsense up in ragged rhyme,
As once a week they seldom fail,
Inspir'd by love and gridiron ale.
To other scribblers formidable,
Guilty themselves of the same crime,
Dress nonsense up in ragged rhyme,
As once a week they seldom fail,
Inspir'd by love and gridiron ale.
Or any paltry poetry,
Tho' from the university,
Who when the King and Queen were there,
Did both their wit and learning spare,
And have, I hope, endeavor'd since
To make the world some recompense.
Such damn'd fustian when you meet,
Be not too rash or indiscreet,
Tho' they can plead no just excuses,
To put 'em to their proper uses—
The fatal privy or the fire,
Their nobler foe—at my desire
Restrain your natural profuseness,
And spare 'em tho' you have a looseness.
Tho' from the university,
Who when the King and Queen were there,
Did both their wit and learning spare,
And have, I hope, endeavor'd since
To make the world some recompense.
Such damn'd fustian when you meet,
Be not too rash or indiscreet,
Tho' they can plead no just excuses,
To put 'em to their proper uses—
The fatal privy or the fire,
Their nobler foe—at my desire
Restrain your natural profuseness,
And spare 'em tho' you have a looseness.
—BUCKHURST.
109
Mr. Etherege's Answer
As crafty harlots use to shrink
From lechers dozed with sleep and drink,
When they intend to make up pack
By filching sheets or shirt from back,
So were you pleas'd to steal away
From me, whilst on your bed I lay;
But long you had not been departed
When pinch'd with cold from thence I started;
Where missing you I stamp'd and star'd,
Like Bacon when he wak'd and heard
His Brazen Head in vain had spoke,
And saw it lie in pieces broke.
Sighing, I to my chamber make,
Where ev'ry limb was stiff as stake,
Unless poor p---, which did feel
Like slimy skin of new-stripped eel,
Or pudding that mischance had got,
And spent itself half in the pot.
With care I cleans'd the sneaking varlet
Which late had been in pool of harlot;
But neither shirt nor water cou'd
Remove the stench of lech'rous mud.
The Queen of Love from sea did spring,
Whence the best c---s still smell like ling.
But sure this damn'd notorious bitch
Was made o'th' foam of Jane Shore's ditch;
Or else her c--- could never stink
Like pump that's foul, or nasty sink.
From lechers dozed with sleep and drink,
When they intend to make up pack
By filching sheets or shirt from back,
So were you pleas'd to steal away
From me, whilst on your bed I lay;
But long you had not been departed
When pinch'd with cold from thence I started;
Where missing you I stamp'd and star'd,
Like Bacon when he wak'd and heard
His Brazen Head in vain had spoke,
And saw it lie in pieces broke.
Sighing, I to my chamber make,
Where ev'ry limb was stiff as stake,
Unless poor p---, which did feel
Like slimy skin of new-stripped eel,
Or pudding that mischance had got,
And spent itself half in the pot.
With care I cleans'd the sneaking varlet
Which late had been in pool of harlot;
But neither shirt nor water cou'd
Remove the stench of lech'rous mud.
The Queen of Love from sea did spring,
Whence the best c---s still smell like ling.
But sure this damn'd notorious bitch
Was made o'th' foam of Jane Shore's ditch;
Or else her c--- could never stink
Like pump that's foul, or nasty sink.
When this was done, to bed I went,
Where that whole day in sleep I spent;
But the next morning, fresh and gay
As citizen on holiday,
I wander'd in the spacious Town,
Amongst the bawds of best renown,
Making enquiry far and near
To find out fresh and wholesome gear.
To Temple I a visit made—
Temple, the beauty of her trade!
The only bawd that ever I
For want of whore could occupy.
She made me friends with Mrs. Cuffley,
Whom we indeed had us'd too roughly,
For by a gentler way I found
The nymph would f--- under ten pound.
So resty jades that scorn to stir,
Tho' oft provok'd by whip and spur,
By milder usage may be got
To fall into their wonted trot.
Where that whole day in sleep I spent;
110
As citizen on holiday,
I wander'd in the spacious Town,
Amongst the bawds of best renown,
Making enquiry far and near
To find out fresh and wholesome gear.
To Temple I a visit made—
Temple, the beauty of her trade!
The only bawd that ever I
For want of whore could occupy.
She made me friends with Mrs. Cuffley,
Whom we indeed had us'd too roughly,
For by a gentler way I found
The nymph would f--- under ten pound.
So resty jades that scorn to stir,
Tho' oft provok'd by whip and spur,
By milder usage may be got
To fall into their wonted trot.
But what success I further had,
And what discoveries good and bad
I made by roving up and down,
I'll tell you when you come to town.
And what discoveries good and bad
I made by roving up and down,
I'll tell you when you come to town.
Further, I have obey'd your motion,
Tho' much provok'd by pill and potion,
And sent you down some paltry rhymes,
The greatest grievance of our times,
When such as Nature never made
For poets daily do invade
Wit's empire, both the stage and press—
And what is worse, with good success.
Tho' much provok'd by pill and potion,
And sent you down some paltry rhymes,
The greatest grievance of our times,
When such as Nature never made
For poets daily do invade
Wit's empire, both the stage and press—
And what is worse, with good success.
—ETHEREGE.
112
Another Letter by the Lord Buckhurst to Mr. Etherege
If I can guess the Devil choke me
What horrid fury could provoke thee
To use thy railing, scurrilous wit
'Gainst p--- and c--- the source of it
For what but p--- and c--- do's raise
Our thoughts to songs and roundelays,
Enables us to anagrams
And other amorous flim flams?
Then we write plays and so proceed
To bays, the poets' sacred weed.
Hast thou no respect for God Priapus?
That ancient story should not 'scape us.
Priapus was a Roman God,
But in plain English, p--- and cod.
Who pleas'd their sisters, wives, and daughters,
Guarded their pippins and pomwaters;
For at the orchard's utmost entry
This mighty deity stood sentry,
Invested in a tatter'd blanket,
To scare the magpies from their banquet.
But this may serve to show we trample
On rule and method by example
Of modern writers, who to snap at all,
Will talk of Caesar in the Capitol,
Of Cynthia's beams and Sol's bright ray,
Known foe to buttermilk and whey,
Which softens wax and hardens clay.
All this without the least connection,
Which to say truth's enough to vex one;
But farewell all poetic dizziness,
And now to come unto the business.
What horrid fury could provoke thee
To use thy railing, scurrilous wit
'Gainst p--- and c--- the source of it
For what but p--- and c--- do's raise
Our thoughts to songs and roundelays,
Enables us to anagrams
And other amorous flim flams?
Then we write plays and so proceed
To bays, the poets' sacred weed.
Hast thou no respect for God Priapus?
That ancient story should not 'scape us.
Priapus was a Roman God,
But in plain English, p--- and cod.
Who pleas'd their sisters, wives, and daughters,
Guarded their pippins and pomwaters;
For at the orchard's utmost entry
This mighty deity stood sentry,
Invested in a tatter'd blanket,
To scare the magpies from their banquet.
But this may serve to show we trample
On rule and method by example
Of modern writers, who to snap at all,
Will talk of Caesar in the Capitol,
Of Cynthia's beams and Sol's bright ray,
Known foe to buttermilk and whey,
Which softens wax and hardens clay.
All this without the least connection,
Which to say truth's enough to vex one;
113
And now to come unto the business.
Tell the bright nymph how sad and pensively,
Ever since we us'd her so offensively
In dismal shades, with arms across
I sit lamenting of my loss.
To Echo I her name commend,
Who has it now at her tongue's end,
And parrot-like repeats the same;
For should you talk of Tamberlaine,
Cuffley! she cries at the same time
(Though the last accent does not rhyme)—
Far more than Echo e'er did yet
For Phyllis or bright Amoret.
Ever since we us'd her so offensively
In dismal shades, with arms across
I sit lamenting of my loss.
To Echo I her name commend,
Who has it now at her tongue's end,
And parrot-like repeats the same;
For should you talk of Tamberlaine,
Cuffley! she cries at the same time
(Though the last accent does not rhyme)—
Far more than Echo e'er did yet
For Phyllis or bright Amoret.
With penknife keen of moderate size,
As bright and piercing as her eyes,
(A glitt'ring weapon, which would scorn
To pare a nail or cut a corn)
Upon the trees of smoothest bark
I carve her name or else her mark,
Which commonly's a bleeding heart,
A weeping eye, or flaming dart.
As bright and piercing as her eyes,
(A glitt'ring weapon, which would scorn
To pare a nail or cut a corn)
Upon the trees of smoothest bark
I carve her name or else her mark,
Which commonly's a bleeding heart,
A weeping eye, or flaming dart.
Here on a beech, like am'rous sot,
I sometimes carve a true-love's knot.
There a tall oak her name do's wear,
In a large spreading character.
I chose the fairest and the best
Of all the grove: among the rest
I carv'd it on a lofty pine,
Who wept a pint of turpentine;
Such was the terror of her name,
By the report of evil fame,
Who, tired with immoderate flight,
Had lodg'd upon its boughs all night.
The wary tree, who fear'd a clap,
And knew the virtue of its sap,
Dropped balsam into ev'ry wound
And in an hour's time was sound.
I sometimes carve a true-love's knot.
There a tall oak her name do's wear,
In a large spreading character.
I chose the fairest and the best
Of all the grove: among the rest
I carv'd it on a lofty pine,
Who wept a pint of turpentine;
Such was the terror of her name,
By the report of evil fame,
Who, tired with immoderate flight,
Had lodg'd upon its boughs all night.
The wary tree, who fear'd a clap,
And knew the virtue of its sap,
114
And in an hour's time was sound.
But you are unacquainted yet
With half the power of Amoret;
For she can drink as well as swive,
Her growing empire still must thrive.
Our hearts weak forts we must resign
When beauty does its forces join
With man's strong enemy, good wine.
This I was told by my Lord O'Brien,
A man whose words I much rely on:
He kept touch and came down hither
When you were scar'd by the foul weather.
But if thou wouldst forgiven be,
Say that a c--- detained thee;
C---! whose strong charms the world bewitches,
The joy of kings! the beggar's riches!
The courtier's business! statesman's leisure!
The tired tinker's ease and pleasure!
Of which, alas, I've leave to prate,
But oh, the rigor of my fate!
For want of bouncing bona-roba,
Lasciva est nobis pagina vita proba.
For that rhyme I was fain to fumble;
When Pegasus begins to stumble,
'Tis time to rest, your very humble.
With half the power of Amoret;
For she can drink as well as swive,
Her growing empire still must thrive.
Our hearts weak forts we must resign
When beauty does its forces join
With man's strong enemy, good wine.
This I was told by my Lord O'Brien,
A man whose words I much rely on:
He kept touch and came down hither
When you were scar'd by the foul weather.
But if thou wouldst forgiven be,
Say that a c--- detained thee;
C---! whose strong charms the world bewitches,
The joy of kings! the beggar's riches!
The courtier's business! statesman's leisure!
The tired tinker's ease and pleasure!
Of which, alas, I've leave to prate,
But oh, the rigor of my fate!
For want of bouncing bona-roba,
Lasciva est nobis pagina vita proba.
For that rhyme I was fain to fumble;
When Pegasus begins to stumble,
'Tis time to rest, your very humble.
—BUCKHURST.
115
Mr. Etherege's Answer
So soft and am'rously you write
Of c--- and p---, the c---'s delight,
That were I still in lantern sweating,
Swallowing of bolus or a-spitting,
I should forgive each injury
The pocky whores have offer'd me,
And only of my fate complain
Because I must from c--- abstain—
The powerful c---, whose very name
Kindles in me an amorous flame!
Begins to make my pintle rise
And long again to fight love's prize,
Forgetful of those many scars
Which he has gotten in those wars.
This shows love's chiefest magic lies
In women's c---, not in their eyes:
There Cupid does his revels keep,
There lovers all their sorrows steep;
For having once but tasted that,
Their miseries are quite forgot.
This may suffice to let you know
That I to c--- am not a foe,
Though you are pleas'd to think me so;
'Tis strange his zeal should be in suspicion
Who dies a martyr for's religion.
Of c--- and p---, the c---'s delight,
That were I still in lantern sweating,
Swallowing of bolus or a-spitting,
I should forgive each injury
The pocky whores have offer'd me,
And only of my fate complain
Because I must from c--- abstain—
The powerful c---, whose very name
Kindles in me an amorous flame!
Begins to make my pintle rise
And long again to fight love's prize,
Forgetful of those many scars
Which he has gotten in those wars.
This shows love's chiefest magic lies
In women's c---, not in their eyes:
There Cupid does his revels keep,
There lovers all their sorrows steep;
For having once but tasted that,
Their miseries are quite forgot.
This may suffice to let you know
That I to c--- am not a foe,
Though you are pleas'd to think me so;
'Tis strange his zeal should be in suspicion
Who dies a martyr for's religion.
But now to give you an account
Of Cuffley, that Whore paramount!
Cuffley, whose beauty warms the age,
And fills our youth with love and rage;
Who like fierce wolves pursue the game,
While secretly the lecherous dame
With some choice gallant takes her flight,
And in a corner f--- all night.
Then the next morning we all hunt
To find whose fingers smell of c---,
With jealousy and envy mov'd
Against the man that was belov'd.
Whilst you to Echo teach her name,
Thus it becomes the voice of fame
In every corner of the town.
We here proclaim her high renown
Whilst you within some neighb'ring grove
Indite the story of your love,
And with your penknife keen and bright
On stately trees your passion write,
So that each nymph that passes through
Must envy her and pity you.
We at the Fleece or at the Bear,
With good case knife, well whet on stair,
(A gentle weapon, made to feed
Mankind and not to let him bleed)
A thousand am'rous fancies scrape.
There's not a pewter dish can 'scape
Without her name or arms, which are
The same that love himself does bear.
Here one, to show you love's no glutton,
I'th' midst of supper leaves his mutton,
And on his greasy plate, with care,
Carves the bright image of the fair.
Of Cuffley, that Whore paramount!
Cuffley, whose beauty warms the age,
And fills our youth with love and rage;
Who like fierce wolves pursue the game,
116
With some choice gallant takes her flight,
And in a corner f--- all night.
Then the next morning we all hunt
To find whose fingers smell of c---,
With jealousy and envy mov'd
Against the man that was belov'd.
Whilst you to Echo teach her name,
Thus it becomes the voice of fame
In every corner of the town.
We here proclaim her high renown
Whilst you within some neighb'ring grove
Indite the story of your love,
And with your penknife keen and bright
On stately trees your passion write,
So that each nymph that passes through
Must envy her and pity you.
We at the Fleece or at the Bear,
With good case knife, well whet on stair,
(A gentle weapon, made to feed
Mankind and not to let him bleed)
A thousand am'rous fancies scrape.
There's not a pewter dish can 'scape
Without her name or arms, which are
The same that love himself does bear.
Here one, to show you love's no glutton,
I'th' midst of supper leaves his mutton,
And on his greasy plate, with care,
Carves the bright image of the fair.
Another, though a drunken sot,
Neglects his wine and on the pot
A band of naked Cupids draws,
With p--- no bigger than wheat straws.
Then on a nasty candlestick
One figures love's hieroglyphic,
A couchant c--- and rampant p---.
And that the sight may more inflame,
The lookers-on subscribe her name:
Cuffley! her sex's pride and shame.
There's not a man but does discover
By some such action he's her lover.
Neglects his wine and on the pot
A band of naked Cupids draws,
With p--- no bigger than wheat straws.
Then on a nasty candlestick
One figures love's hieroglyphic,
A couchant c--- and rampant p---.
And that the sight may more inflame,
117
Cuffley! her sex's pride and shame.
There's not a man but does discover
By some such action he's her lover.
But now 'tis time to give her over,
And let your Lordship know you are
The mistress that employs our care.
Your absence makes us melancholy,
Nor drink nor c--- can make us jolly,
Unless we've you within our arms,
In whom there dwells diviner charms.
Then quit with speed your pensive grove
And here in town pursue your love;
Where at your coming you shall find
Your servants glad, your mistress kind,
All things devoted to your mind;
And let your Lordship know you are
The mistress that employs our care.
Your absence makes us melancholy,
Nor drink nor c--- can make us jolly,
Unless we've you within our arms,
In whom there dwells diviner charms.
Then quit with speed your pensive grove
And here in town pursue your love;
Where at your coming you shall find
Your servants glad, your mistress kind,
All things devoted to your mind;
With your very Humble Servant.—ETHEREGE.
118
The Duel of the Crabs
119
In Milford Lane near to St. Clement's steeple
There liv'd a nymph kind to all Christian people.
A nymph she was whose comely mien and stature,
Whose height of eloquence and every feature
Struck through the hearts of city and of Whitehall,
And when they pleas'd to court her, did 'em right all.
Under her beauteous bosom there did lie
A belly smooth as any ivory.
Yet nature to declare her various art
Had plac'd a tuft in one convenient part;
No park with smoothest lawn or highest wood
Could e'er compare with this admir'd abode.
Here all the youth of England did repair
To take their pleasure and to ease their care.
Here the distressed lover that had borne
His haughty mistress' anger and her scorn
Came for relief, and in this pleasant shade
Forgot the former and this nymph obey'd.
There liv'd a nymph kind to all Christian people.
A nymph she was whose comely mien and stature,
Whose height of eloquence and every feature
Struck through the hearts of city and of Whitehall,
And when they pleas'd to court her, did 'em right all.
Under her beauteous bosom there did lie
A belly smooth as any ivory.
Yet nature to declare her various art
Had plac'd a tuft in one convenient part;
No park with smoothest lawn or highest wood
Could e'er compare with this admir'd abode.
Here all the youth of England did repair
To take their pleasure and to ease their care.
120
His haughty mistress' anger and her scorn
Came for relief, and in this pleasant shade
Forgot the former and this nymph obey'd.
But yet what corner of the world is found,
Where pain our pleasure does not still surround?
One would have thought that in this shady grove
Nought could have dwelt but quiet, peace, and love.
But Heaven directed otherwise, for here
In midst of plenty bloody wars appear:
The gods will frown wherever they do smile;
The crocodile infests the fertile Nile.
Lions and tigers on the Lybian plains
Forbid all pleasures to the fearful swains;
Wild beasts in forests do the hunters fright:
They fear their ruin 'midst of their delight.
Thus in the shade of this dark, silent bower
Strength strives with strength, and power vies with power.
Where pain our pleasure does not still surround?
One would have thought that in this shady grove
Nought could have dwelt but quiet, peace, and love.
But Heaven directed otherwise, for here
In midst of plenty bloody wars appear:
The gods will frown wherever they do smile;
The crocodile infests the fertile Nile.
Lions and tigers on the Lybian plains
Forbid all pleasures to the fearful swains;
Wild beasts in forests do the hunters fright:
They fear their ruin 'midst of their delight.
Thus in the shade of this dark, silent bower
Strength strives with strength, and power vies with power.
Two mighty monsters did this wood infest,
And struck such awe and terror in the rest
That no Sicilian tyrant e'er could boast
He e'er with greater vigor rul'd the roast.
Each had his empire, which he kept in awe,
Was by his will obey'd, allow'd no law.
Nature so well divided had their states,
Nought but ambition could have chang'd their fates:
For 'twixt their empires stood a briny lake,
Deep as the poets do the centre make;
But dire ambition does admit no bounds—
There are no limits to aspiring crowns.
The Spaniard by his Europe conquests bold,
Sail'd o'er the ocean for the Indian gold;
The Carthaginian hero did not stay
Because he met vast mountains in his way.
He pass'd the Alps like molehills; such a mind
As thinks on conquest will be unconfin'd.
Both with these haughty thoughts one course do bend
To try if this vast lake had any end;
Where finding countries yet without a name,
They might by conquest get eternal fame.
After long marches, both their armies tired,
At length they find the place so much desired,
Where in a little time each does descry
The glimpse of an approaching enemy.
Each at the sight with equal pleasure move,
As we should do in well rewarded love:
Bloodthirsty souls, whose only perfect joy
Consists in what their fury can destroy.
And struck such awe and terror in the rest
That no Sicilian tyrant e'er could boast
He e'er with greater vigor rul'd the roast.
Each had his empire, which he kept in awe,
Was by his will obey'd, allow'd no law.
Nature so well divided had their states,
Nought but ambition could have chang'd their fates:
For 'twixt their empires stood a briny lake,
Deep as the poets do the centre make;
But dire ambition does admit no bounds—
There are no limits to aspiring crowns.
The Spaniard by his Europe conquests bold,
Sail'd o'er the ocean for the Indian gold;
The Carthaginian hero did not stay
Because he met vast mountains in his way.
He pass'd the Alps like molehills; such a mind
As thinks on conquest will be unconfin'd.
121
To try if this vast lake had any end;
Where finding countries yet without a name,
They might by conquest get eternal fame.
After long marches, both their armies tired,
At length they find the place so much desired,
Where in a little time each does descry
The glimpse of an approaching enemy.
Each at the sight with equal pleasure move,
As we should do in well rewarded love:
Bloodthirsty souls, whose only perfect joy
Consists in what their fury can destroy.
And now both armies do prepare to fight,
And each the other unto war incite;
In vain, alas, for all their force and strength
Was quite consumed by their marches' length;
But the great chiefs, impatient of delay,
Resolve by single fifht to try the day.
Each does the other with contempt defy,
Resolve by single fight to try the day.
Both armies are commanded to withdraw
In expectation who should give 'em law;
While the amaz'd spectators full of care,
Hope for a better, or worse tyrant fear.
And now these princes meet, now they engage
With all their chiefest strength and highest rage.
Now with their instruments of wrath they push
As hills in earthquakes on each other rush;
Where their militia lies is still in doubt,
Whether like elephants upon their snout,
Or if upon their heads vast horns they wore,
Or if they fought with tusks like fierce wild boar.
Some Greshamites perhaps with help of glass
And poring long upon't may chance to guess,
But no tradition has inform'd our age
What were their chiefest instruments of rage.
With small or no advantage they proceed;
Both are much bruised and their wounds do bleed;
Both keep their anger, both do loose their force;
Both get the better, neither gets the worse.
Justice herself might put into each scale
One of these princes and see neither fall.
Spurr'd on by fury, now they both provide
To let one grapple this great cause decide;
Joining, they strive, and such resistance make
Both fall together in the briny lake,
Where from the troubles of a tottering crown,
Each mighty monarch is laid gently down.
Both armies at this sight amazed stand
In doubt: who shall obey, who shall command;
In this extremity they both agree
A commonwealth their government shall be.
And each the other unto war incite;
In vain, alas, for all their force and strength
Was quite consumed by their marches' length;
But the great chiefs, impatient of delay,
Resolve by single fifht to try the day.
Each does the other with contempt defy,
Resolve by single fight to try the day.
Both armies are commanded to withdraw
In expectation who should give 'em law;
While the amaz'd spectators full of care,
Hope for a better, or worse tyrant fear.
And now these princes meet, now they engage
With all their chiefest strength and highest rage.
Now with their instruments of wrath they push
As hills in earthquakes on each other rush;
Where their militia lies is still in doubt,
Whether like elephants upon their snout,
Or if upon their heads vast horns they wore,
Or if they fought with tusks like fierce wild boar.
Some Greshamites perhaps with help of glass
And poring long upon't may chance to guess,
But no tradition has inform'd our age
What were their chiefest instruments of rage.
122
Both are much bruised and their wounds do bleed;
Both keep their anger, both do loose their force;
Both get the better, neither gets the worse.
Justice herself might put into each scale
One of these princes and see neither fall.
Spurr'd on by fury, now they both provide
To let one grapple this great cause decide;
Joining, they strive, and such resistance make
Both fall together in the briny lake,
Where from the troubles of a tottering crown,
Each mighty monarch is laid gently down.
Both armies at this sight amazed stand
In doubt: who shall obey, who shall command;
In this extremity they both agree
A commonwealth their government shall be.
124
Colon
As Colon drove his sheep along
By Whitehall, there was such a throng
Of early coaches at the gate
The silly swain was forc'd to wait.
Chance threw him on Sir Edward Sutton,
A jolly knight that rhymes to mutton:
“Colon,” said he, “this is the day,
For which poor England long did pray;
The day that sets our Monarch free
From butter'd buns and slavery.
This hour from French intrigues, 'tis said,
He'll clear his Council and his bed.
Portsmouth, he now vouchsafes to know,
Was the cast whore of Count de Sault.
Each night with her dear was as sessions
O'th' House, and fuller of petitions,
Which drain'd him 'till he was not able
To keep his Council or a table,
So that whitestaves, grooms, and pages
Live alike upon board wages.
She must retire and sell her place;
Buyers, you see, flock in apace.”
By Whitehall, there was such a throng
Of early coaches at the gate
The silly swain was forc'd to wait.
Chance threw him on Sir Edward Sutton,
A jolly knight that rhymes to mutton:
“Colon,” said he, “this is the day,
125
The day that sets our Monarch free
From butter'd buns and slavery.
This hour from French intrigues, 'tis said,
He'll clear his Council and his bed.
Portsmouth, he now vouchsafes to know,
Was the cast whore of Count de Sault.
Each night with her dear was as sessions
O'th' House, and fuller of petitions,
Which drain'd him 'till he was not able
To keep his Council or a table,
So that whitestaves, grooms, and pages
Live alike upon board wages.
She must retire and sell her place;
Buyers, you see, flock in apace.”
Silence i'th' Court being once proclaim'd,
Up stepp'd fair Richmond once so fam'd:
She offer'd much but was refus'd,
And of miscarriages accus'd.
They said a c--- so us'd to puke
Could never bear a booby duke;
That Mulgrave, Williers, and Jack How
For one salt duchess were enow.
Nor would his Majesty accept her
At thirty, who at eighteen left her:
She blush'd and modestly withdrew.
Up stepp'd fair Richmond once so fam'd:
She offer'd much but was refus'd,
And of miscarriages accus'd.
They said a c--- so us'd to puke
Could never bear a booby duke;
That Mulgrave, Williers, and Jack How
For one salt duchess were enow.
Nor would his Majesty accept her
At thirty, who at eighteen left her:
She blush'd and modestly withdrew.
Next Middleton appear'd in view,
Who straight was told of Montagu;
Of baits from Hyde, of clothes from France,
Of armpits, toes and suffisance;
At which the Court set up a laughter:
And then she pleaded for her daughter,
A buxom lass fit for the place,
(Were not her father in disgrace)
Whose monstrous chin 'twas thought begun
Her pretty face to overrun,
Besides some strange, incestuous stories
Of Harvey and her long clitoris.
Who straight was told of Montagu;
Of baits from Hyde, of clothes from France,
Of armpits, toes and suffisance;
At which the Court set up a laughter:
And then she pleaded for her daughter,
A buxom lass fit for the place,
(Were not her father in disgrace)
Whose monstrous chin 'twas thought begun
Her pretty face to overrun,
Besides some strange, incestuous stories
126
With these exceptions she's dismiss'd,
And Morland fair enters the list:
Husband in hand most decently,
And begs at any rate to buy.
She offer'd jewels of great price,
And dear Sir Samuel's next device,
Whether it be a pump or table,
Glass house or any other bauble:
But she was told she had been tri'd,
And for good reasons laid aside.
And Morland fair enters the list:
Husband in hand most decently,
And begs at any rate to buy.
She offer'd jewels of great price,
And dear Sir Samuel's next device,
Whether it be a pump or table,
Glass house or any other bauble:
But she was told she had been tri'd,
And for good reasons laid aside.
Next in stepp'd pretty Lady Grey,
Offer'd her lord should nothing say
'Gainst the next treasurer's accus'd,
So her pretense were not refus'd:
Rowley enrag'd bid her be gone,
And play her game out with his son;
Or if she lik'd an aged carcass,
From Lucy get the noble Marquess.
Offer'd her lord should nothing say
'Gainst the next treasurer's accus'd,
So her pretense were not refus'd:
Rowley enrag'd bid her be gone,
And play her game out with his son;
Or if she lik'd an aged carcass,
From Lucy get the noble Marquess.
Shrewsbury offer'd for the place,
All she had gotten from his Grace;
She knew his ways and could comply
With all decays of lechery;
Had often lick'd his amorous scepter
Until the jaded stallion leap't her;
But long ago she had the mishap
To give the King Dick Talbot's clap;
Though for her all was said that can be,
By her lean drudge, the Earl of Danby.
She was dismiss'd with scorn and told
Where a tall page was to be sold.
All she had gotten from his Grace;
She knew his ways and could comply
With all decays of lechery;
Had often lick'd his amorous scepter
Until the jaded stallion leap't her;
But long ago she had the mishap
To give the King Dick Talbot's clap;
Though for her all was said that can be,
By her lean drudge, the Earl of Danby.
She was dismiss'd with scorn and told
Where a tall page was to be sold.
Then in came dowdy Mazarin,
That foreign, antiquated quean,
Who soon was told the King no more
Would deal with an intriguing whore;
That she already had about her
Too good an equipage de foutre;
Nor was our monarch such a cully
To bear a Moor, and swingeing bully.
Her Grace at this rebuke look'd blank,
And sneak'd away to villain Frank.
That foreign, antiquated quean,
Who soon was told the King no more
Would deal with an intriguing whore;
That she already had about her
127
Nor was our monarch such a cully
To bear a Moor, and swingeing bully.
Her Grace at this rebuke look'd blank,
And sneak'd away to villain Frank.
Fair Lichfield too her claim put in.
'Twas urg'd she was too near akin;
She modestly reply'd, “No more
Akin than Sussex was before.”
Besides she'd often heard her mother
Call her the daughter of another;
She did not drivel and had sense,
To which all his had no pretence.
Yet for the present she's put off,
And told she was not whore enough.
'Twas urg'd she was too near akin;
She modestly reply'd, “No more
Akin than Sussex was before.”
Besides she'd often heard her mother
Call her the daughter of another;
She did not drivel and had sense,
To which all his had no pretence.
Yet for the present she's put off,
And told she was not whore enough.
Loftus smil'd at that exception,
Doubting not of good reception;
Put in her claim, vowing she'd steal
All that her husband won of Neale:
To buy the place all he should get,
By his long suit with Mr. Pitt;
But from Goliath's size of Gath,
Down to the pitch of little Wroth,
The Court was told she'd lain with all
The roaring roisterers of Whitehall;
For which Old Rowley, lest she'd grudge,
Gave her the making of a judge.
She bow'd and straight bought her six grays,
To haunt the Court, the park, and plays.
Doubting not of good reception;
Put in her claim, vowing she'd steal
All that her husband won of Neale:
To buy the place all he should get,
By his long suit with Mr. Pitt;
But from Goliath's size of Gath,
Down to the pitch of little Wroth,
The Court was told she'd lain with all
The roaring roisterers of Whitehall;
For which Old Rowley, lest she'd grudge,
Gave her the making of a judge.
She bow'd and straight bought her six grays,
To haunt the Court, the park, and plays.
In stepp'd stately Cary Fraser,
Straight the whole room began to praise her;
As fine as hands and paint could make her,
She vow'd the King or jail must take her.
Rowley repli'd, he was retrenching
And would no more of costly wenching;
That she was proud and went too gaudy,
Nor could she swear, drink, and talk bawdy—
Virtues more requisite for that place
Than wit, or youth, or a good face.
Straight the whole room began to praise her;
As fine as hands and paint could make her,
She vow'd the King or jail must take her.
Rowley repli'd, he was retrenching
And would no more of costly wenching;
That she was proud and went too gaudy,
Nor could she swear, drink, and talk bawdy—
128
Than wit, or youth, or a good face.
Cleveland offered down a million,
But she was soon told of Chastillon;
At that name straight she fell a-weeping
And swore she was undone with keeping;
That Jermyn, Churchill had so drain'd her
She could not live on the remainder.
The Court said there was no record
Of any to that place restor'd,
Nor ought the King at these years venture,
When his prime could not content her.
But she was soon told of Chastillon;
At that name straight she fell a-weeping
And swore she was undone with keeping;
That Jermyn, Churchill had so drain'd her
She could not live on the remainder.
The Court said there was no record
Of any to that place restor'd,
Nor ought the King at these years venture,
When his prime could not content her.
Young Lady Jones stepp'd up and urg'd
She'd give the deed her father forg'd;
But she was told her family
Was tainted with Presbytery.
She said her mother with clean heart
And hands had lately done her part
In bringing Mazarin to bed,
Nor was't her fault the babe was dead.
Her sister, too, as all men know,
Had f--- as high and married low
As Belasyse, or any punk
Of late with royal seed made drunk.
For her Rowley own'd his passion,
But said he stood by declaration
Engaged, no matter of great weight
To pass 'till after some debate
In his great Council. So they adjourn'd,
And Colon to his flocks return'd,
Swearing there were at every fair
Blither girls than any there.
She'd give the deed her father forg'd;
But she was told her family
Was tainted with Presbytery.
She said her mother with clean heart
And hands had lately done her part
In bringing Mazarin to bed,
Nor was't her fault the babe was dead.
Her sister, too, as all men know,
Had f--- as high and married low
As Belasyse, or any punk
Of late with royal seed made drunk.
For her Rowley own'd his passion,
But said he stood by declaration
Engaged, no matter of great weight
To pass 'till after some debate
In his great Council. So they adjourn'd,
And Colon to his flocks return'd,
Swearing there were at every fair
Blither girls than any there.
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 | |