THAT I thus prostitute my muse
On theme fo low, may gain excuse;
When following motives fhall be thought on,
Which have this doggrel fury brought on.
I'm call'd in honour to protect
The fair when treat with disrespect;
Befides, a zeal tranfports my foul,
Which no constraint can e'er control;
In fervice of the government,
To draw my pen and fatire vent,
Against vile mungrels of Parnaffus,
Who through impunity oppress us.
'Tis to correct this fcribbling crew,
Who, as in former reigns, fo now
Torment the world, and load our time
With jargon cloth'd in wretched rhyme ;
Difgrace of numbers!-earth! I hate them:
And as they merit, fo I'll treat them.
And firft, these ill-bred things I lash,
That hated authors of the trash,
In public fpread with little wit,
Much malice, rude, and bootless spite,
Against the sex who have no arms
To fhield them from infulting harms,
Except the lightning of their eye,.
Which none but fuch blind dolts defy.
Ungen'rous war! t' attack the fair:
But, ladies, fear not; ye 're the care
Of ev'ry wit of true descent,
At once their fong and ornament:
They'll ne'er neglect the lovely crowd;
But 'fpite of all the multitude
Of fcribbling fops, affert your cause,
And execute Apollo 's laws :
Apollo, who the bard inspires
With fofteft thoughts and divine fires;
Than whom, on all the earth, there's no man
More complaisant to a fine woman.
Such veneration, mixt with love,
Points out a poet from above.
But Zanies, void of fenfe and merit,
Love, fire, or fancy, wit, or fpirit;
Weak, frantic, clownish, and chagreen,
Pretending, prompt by zealous fpleen,
T'affront your head-drefs, or your bone-fence,
Make printers' preffes groan with nonsense:
But while Sol's offspring lives, as foon
Shall they pull down his fifter moon.
They with low incoherent stuff,
Dark sense, or none, lines lame and rough,
Without a thought, air, or address,
All the whole loggerhead confefs.
From clouded notions in the brain,
They fcribble in a cloudy ftrain;
Defire of verse they reckon wit,
And rhyme without one grain of it.
Then hurry forth in public town
Their fcrawls, left they fhould be unknown:
Rather than want a fame, they choose
The plague of an infamous mufe.
Unthinking, thus the fots aspire,
And raise their own reproach the high'r;
By meddling with the modes and fashions
Of women of politeft nations.
Perhaps by this they 'd have it told us,
That in their spirit fomething bold is,
To challenge those who have the skill,
By charms to fave, and frowns to kill.
If not ambition, then 'tis fpite
Which makes the puny infects write!
Like old and mouldy maids turn'd four,
When diftant charms have loft their pow'r,
Fly out in loud tranfports of paffion,
When aught that's new comes firft in fashion;
'Till by degrees it creeps right fnodly,
On hips and head-drefs of the g-y:
Thus they to please the fighing fifters,
Who often beet them in their misters *,
With their malicious breath fet fail,
And write these filly things they rail.
Pimps! fuch as you can ne'er extend
A flight of wit, which may amend
Our morals; that's a plot too nice
For you, to laugh folks out of vice.
Sighing "Oh hey!" ye cry,
"This fardingale 's a great difgrace!"
And all, indeed, because an ancle
Or foot is seen, might monarchs mancle;
And makes the wife, with face upright,
Look up,
and bless Heav'n for their fight,
In your opinion nothing matchesO horrid fin! the crime of patches!'Tis falfe, ye clowns; I'll make 't appear, The glorious fun does patches wear: Yea, run thro' all the frame of nature, You'll find a patch for ev'ry creature : Ev'n you yourselves, you blacken'd wretches, To Heliconians are the patches.
grant that ladies' modes were ills To be reform'd, your creeping skills,
*Oblige them upon occafion.
Ye rhymers never would fucceed,
Who write what the polite ne'er read.
To cure an error of the fair,
Demands the nicest prudent care;
Wit utter'd in a pleasant strain,
A point fo delicate may gain:
But that's a task as far above
Your fhallow reach, as I'm from Jove.
No more then let the world be vexed
With baggage empty and perplexed;
But learn to speak with due respect
Of Peggie's breasts and ivory neck.
Such purblind eyes as yours, 'tis true,
Shou'd ne'er fuch divine beauties view.
If Nellie's hoop be twice as wide,
As her two pretty limbs can ftride;
What then? will any man of sense
Take umbrage, or the least offence,
At what e'en the most modest may
Expose to Phoebus' brightest ray?
Does not the handfome of our city,
The pious, chafte, the kind, and witty,
Who can afford it great and small,
Regard well-fhapen fardingale ?
And will you, magpyes, make a noise?
You grumble at the ladies' choice!
But leave 't to them, and mothers wife,
Who watch'd their conduct, mien, and guife,
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