A satire AGAINST WOOING: With a View of the Ill Consequences that attend it.  
Written by the Author of The satire against Woman.  
Si tibi simplicitas uxoria, deditus uni  
Est animus, summitte caput, cervice parata  
Ferre Jugum: nullam invenies quae pareat amanti.  Juv. Sat. 6. 
LONDON, Printed in the Year, 1698.   

TO Sir Fleetwood Sheppard, etc.  

WHile the vain Fop his vainer Mistress sues,  
Growing more slavish as he longer Woos,  
(For she but flies because the Sot pursues)  
You, Sir, a safer, nobler way have run,  
For an ill Age a general Good began,  
And shown the ways of Liberty to Man.  
Unpitied let the Husband mourn his strife,  
That Woos, and Lies, and labours for a Wife.  
Mean while to you our Praise we justly pay,  
Whom Woman's utmost Art could ne'er betray,  
Or all her charms seduce to quit your Native Sway.  
Learning and Prudence raised you safe, above  
The snares of Wedlock, and the smiles of Love;  
In their embrace a nobler Prize you sought,  
And to their Empire lasting Conquests brought.  
'Twas strange to be the Foe of Love so Young.  
But stranger to retain the Bent so long.  
Nor heat of Youth, nor yet your Elder Years  
(For many a Man is fonder as he wears)  
Could ever plunge you in that Sea of Cares.  
Constant to Peace, you still avoided strife,  
The Rocks, the Shelves, and Quicksands of a Wife,  
That wak'ner of Despair, and scourge of Life!  
'Twas not because you never saw the Flame;  
In Crowds of Beauties you were still the same,  
And, looking back, despised the following Game:  
Thus, flying, you the beauteous Victors beat,  
And Parthian like, secured the Conquest by Retreat:  
Disarmed of all their Darts, the Phantoms fled,  
By your persisting Sense their Power struck dead,  
And Wit and Friendship governed in their stead.  
Friendship! heavens holiest Tie and Balm of Life!  
And Wit! that never could consist with strife.  
How are we pleased at every word you speak!  
How do we glow to see the lightning break!  
Inevitable Mirth our Grief controls,  
Shines through the sullen Gloom, and warms our Souls!  
Sadness itself does in thy Presence wear  
A Pleasing look, and Poets lose their Care.  
There's not a Soul can stir while thou dost stay!  
To every Mind you Life and Light convey,  
Just as where e'er the Sun arrives 'tis Day!   

Why should not Wit, a blessing so sublime.  
As it from Love, secure thee too from Time?  
It will not be!— the Body falls of Course;  
But thy Immortal Name's above his Force.   R. G.  

A satire AGAINST WOOING, etc.  

TRue Love (if yet there such a thing can be)  
Is where two Persons mutually agree;  
And marry next (to Root out all debate)  
Without ● thought of Portion, or Estate:  
Then both alike, with cheerful Labour, strive  
By Honesty and Industry to Live,  
Alike contented, if they ' re poor, or thrive.  
Thus, living Happily and Dying late,  
They scarce find Heaven a more Exalted State.   

But O! th' Arabian Phoenix is less rare  
Than such a happy, such a wondrous Pair!  
Not in an Age a Mutual Couple shown;  
And 'tis as certain that the Fault's our own.  
We Sigh and Weep, with hopes and fears perplex  
Ourselves, and Deify a faithless Sex.  
As Butchers blow their Veal and taint their Ware,  
Praise does to Woman what a stinking Breath does there.   

Scarce has the Foppling Sixteen Summers Seen,  
The Down scarce yet appearing on his Chin,  
But he a Tingling in his Blood does find,  
And thinks he's fit to propagate his Kind;  
And were that all, he should not have our blame,  
Since every other Brute pursues the same:  
Enjoyed, at once they lose their Lust and Strife;  
But he more thoughtless, bushes at a Wife,  
And thinks Desire will only end with Life.   

But e'er he can effect his mad Design,  
And in th' unquiet clamorous Union join,  
The two old Fathers, very gravely, meet  
'T adjust the Young ones shaking of the Sheet:  
Th' Hereditary Manor House and Grounds  
The Jointure, and in lieu Five thousand pounds.  
What's this but just like Tradesmen bart'ting Ware?  
Or cheating Jockeys in a Smithfield Fair,  
An even Chop between the Horse and Mare?   

The Match thus made up, (thoughtless of th' Event,)  
The Noddy's next to get the Nymph's Consent  
In order to't he Powders and Perfumes,  
And, three long hours in Dressing spent; presumes  
At last before the Idol to appear,  
Bowing, as if the Deity were there:  
Not more could be the Rapture had she been  
A bright, and just descended Cherubin.  
But now the speaking Faculty does seize  
The Ass, that breaks out smooth in Wo●ds like these.   

Madam— What shall I suy? or how impart  
In Language that may make you feel the smart,  
The mighty Anguish of my bleeding Heart?  
Wounded by You, nor able to endure  
The raging Pain, I humbly Kneel for Cure.  
O let thy looks thy future Love Declare;  
As bright Aurora does a Day that's Fair.  
Do not, Ah! do not, in a dismal Cloud  
Of gloomy Scorn thy Smiling Mercy shroud.  
But let those Eyes, that can the Sun control,  
Shine with enlivening Warmth upon my Soul,  
And an undone, despairing Lover save,  
Whose utmost Glory is to die your Slave.   

O Sot! that knows not Wedlock is a more  
Incessant Toil than tugging at the Ore,  
The Joy of which he Dreams to stand possessed  
A Bed-fellow that ne'er will let him rest;  
In fatal kindness draining of his Strength,  
Or Curtain Lectures, fatal for their Length;  
Knows all his secret Crimes, his Folly hears,  
Lessens his Hopes, and does increase his Fears,  
And Studies how to Plague him forty Years.   

Had not a blunt Address been much more fit?  
And, at that Juncture, better showed his Wit?  
Madam (tho' 'tis a Truth that's something ' bold)  
We here are by our Parents bought and Sold:  
Tho' they are 〈◊〉, pray let not us be Mad,  
But make the best of what will else be Bad:  
They've yoked us, let us go an equal Pace,  
'Tis walking Hand in Hand that wins this Race.  
Tho' yet of Love we may but little know,  
If after Marriage we can Loving grow,  
We shall be the first Pair that e'er did so.   

But to return— the Fop's Oration o'er  
(To many a Meaner Drab addressed before)  
He little thinks what Torment will succeed;  
That he so soon shall be a Slave indeed:  
That all the Joys and Innocence of Life  
Fly their inveterate Opposite— a Wife:  
That Friendship, Wine and Wit, like Truth to Sin,  
All hurry out as Marriage enters in.   

Well, but the Lady proud of the Applause,  
Her Mouth into a squeamish Posture draws,  
And cries, Ah Sir! y'ave learned the Courtier's Art  
To speak fine Words, but distant from your Heart:  
These Compliments were better said before  
Some Fairer Object; that could charm you more.   

O Madam! He Replies, you are unjust,  
Can you inevitable Charms distrust?  
With Eyes that Languish and with Conquered Hearts  
We own your Power, your Raptures Flames and Darts:  
Charm more than You? O touch not that extreme!  
What Goddess does her own Divinity Blaspheme?   

Thus does the Coxcomb entertain the Fair;  
Who, at the same time, is so pleased to hear,  
That she forgets she is to be a Bride,  
And loses all her Leach'ry in her Pride.   

Impossible a Man should keep up to  
That warm Discourse in which he first did Woe:  
It can't be always Angel, Love and Dear!  
Celestial! Orient Eyes! and Matchless Fair!  
Nor can the first Embrace, the warm Delight,  
Find a like Repetition every Night:  
These failing, Wedlock grows a thing accursed;  
A Wife expects it still as 'twas at first.   

Here sinks our Florid Fop— and in his Train,  
To the same Snare, comes on the Rhyming Swain;  
The Sot that Writes, and is an Ass by Rule,  
The Caelia, Silvia, Chloris, Phillis Fool:  
Song is his Meat, his Drink, his Mistress too,  
For 'tis to show his Wit that makes him Woe;  
Tho' there are better ways that Gift to prove,  
Than wasting time in Courtship, Noise and Love.  
No new Collection can of Verse appear,  
No Farce, no Comedy thro'all the year,  
But you'll be sure to meet our Coxcomb there:  
Proud to his senseless Songs to Print his Name,  
And thinks his Whining, Love; and Scribbling, Fame.   

This bad, and yet that other Songster's worse,  
Whose Madrigals flow only from his Purse,  
So much for Making he at first bestows,  
For Setting next the second Guinea goes;  
The singing Master sharps another Spill;  
Ah! Sir, he gargling cries,— That Note must kill!  
At Midnight he for Serenade prepares,  
As if (alike disturbing sickly Ears)  
He must ring his Chimes when the Bells go theirs.  
In vain this Cost and Toil; for still 'tis found  
There's nearer ways to Wood than going round:  
Some Brawny Groom, as thus the Fop hums on,  
Cries Ough, and Mounts, and the Love-suit is done.  
Thus to the Fool the Filly's ready broke,  
The Clown her Pleasure, and the Fop her Cloak.   

But granting that there were a Nymph so choice,  
That liked her Lover purely for his Voice;  
Even granting that, 'twill not be very long  
E'er she'll like Something better than a Song.  
A Common Singer on the Stage has there  
Where Voice will do, th' Advantage of a Peer:  
Or tho', by chance, his Lordship led the way,  
What one Fool has possessed, all others may.   

Next to this, Wooer we the Slave may place  
With the sad watery Eyes, and Rusul Face,  
That sighs out all his hours, and in the Groves,  
Carves on the Beeches his unprosp'rous Loves.  
Sot! only fit to make his Court to Trees,  
That hopes a Cure, yet tells not his Disease.  
If she appears he shakes, a Deathlike Pale  
Sits on his Visage— but the mournful Tale  
Some Friend, at last, to the loved Lady bears,  
And with the tender Accents wounds her Ears:  
She Melts, and now the Joy he wished is come;  
Wone without Words, she's born in Triumph home—  
Happy! if he would still continue Dumb,  
And pray the Powers to take his Hearing too,  
And save him from the Clamour to ensue.   

If by his Cowardice this gets Success,  
The Bully, you may Judge, expects no less:  
Mad to enjoy, he ventures Life and Limb,  
As if the Nymph were only made for him;  
And Marriage were not binding, just, or good,  
Unless he cut his way to it through Blood.  
Thus the first hour we loving Fops commence,  
Away goes Christianity and Sense.  
A Father's Precepts lose their pious force,  
For Counsel makes a hardened Blockhead worse.  
Still he fights on, and the most Common Drab  
He meets with, Courts with Duel and with Stab:  
So that at last (from Justice fled for fear)  
His Lot does with this double choice appear,  
To starve abroad, or to be trussed up here.   

Vain Man! is this our Boast of being brave?  
Is this the Prudence above Beasts we have?  
They tear and gore, and will no Rival bear  
In Rutting time,— our Rutt holds all the Year;  
Condemned to Drudge in those unfathomed Mines,  
And fonder grow the swifter Life declines.   

This brings me to the stale grey Fop in Years,  
That daily at the Park and Play appears,  
The Scandal and Disgrace of Silver Hairs:  
The Lady's Hearts with Perfumes t' engage  
Aping in vain the Youthful Lover's Rage,  
For Women know too well the Wants of Sapless Age.  
'Tis true, some Men t'a vigorous Age arrive,  
But it is then too late to Woe and Wive.  
Who'd shake the Sands when there's so few to run?  
And clap on Leeches when the Blood is gone?  
Yet even in Impotence they're still the same,  
And hold the Cards tho' they can't play the Game;  
When Nature does in Opposition strive,  
And the last raked up Ember's scarce alive.   

With this weak Wretch we may the lean one join  
Who (choosing Food that Steels him in the Chine)  
Feeds for a Mistress like a fatting Swine  
A Starv'ling just before of Meager Face,  
But he crams on and will be brought in case.  
Wisely he lays his Fund for Pleasure in,  
He need not fear the being drained again.  
This Fop of all Fops Ladies most should prise,  
Light of their Steps, and Jewel of their Eyes!  
Famous as Spouse that all the Gravy Sips,  
And like Laborious Bees he jades his Hips;  
Tho' he that Eats that way t' increase his Gust,  
Is but a Limbeck for a Woman's Lust.   

But what can that Notorious Coxcomb say  
That, for a Wife, dissolves his Fat away?  
If he so panked to strike a heat before,  
The loss of Spirits will unbreath him more.  
The first has some pretence for feeding high;  
The more this wastes the less he'll satisfy:  
Or with his Strength should he not lose desire,  
Yet weakness will not do what she'll require.  
Fool! at her Lover's Corpulence to frown,  
When she herself so soon could melt him down,  
And all the Pleasure of the Change her own.  
But to please her, tho' he was Horseman's Weight  
Full fifteen Stone, he brings himself to Eight;  
And thinking this way to get more in Breath,  
Gets a Consumption first, and next his Death:  
Happier in that, how e'er, than longest Life,  
With all his former Garbage and a Wife.   

But the proud Lover now 'tis time to name,  
He that beyond his Fortune takes his Aim;  
Scorns with Two Thousand Pound the Country Girl,  
And all less than the Daughter of an Earl:  
There he Addresses, Masks and Balls are made,  
But finds 'em all too little to persuade.  
Slighting his Love, and Haughty as she's Fair,  
What can the Coxcomb do but next Despair?  
And where that is the Cause, we know th' Effect  
Is Madness— Pride could never bear Neglect.  
Hanging, or Poisoning he does now intend,  
Nor does indeed deserve a better end.  
In Quality what was there ever seen  
Beside Rich clothes, and an affected Mein,  
Expensive Living, and a Fame decayed,  
We might not find in any meaner Maid?  
If a rich Consort was so much his Care,  
Why must she be descended from a P— r?  
The greatest Fortunes are not met with there:  
Why raked he not among the City Heirs?  
Whence most of our Nobility have theirs;  
And by the ill got Portions Spendthrifts made,  
Down to the same Degree their Line degrade,  
From Tradesmen sprung, and prenticed to a Trade.   

As mad as this is he to Learning Bred,  
That thinks to gain a Mistress by his Head;  
When any Blockhead sooner shall prevail  
That scorns that Aid, and courts her with his Tail.  
What need of using all the Liberal Arts,  
So well received with our own Natural Parts?  
The Fools in Verse enough themselves expose,  
Yet are exceeded by this Fool in Prose.  
His Love's the very Birdlime of his Brain,  
And pulls some part away with every Strain.  
Would but my Lady's tawdry Woman show  
The Billets she has received from Chaplain Beau;  
(Who, with his fair Wig, and fine Cambric Band,  
Thinks all the Ladies are at his Command,)  
Would she, I say, but design to let you see  
This Rhetorician in his Gaiety,  
In all his Tropes and Figures, and the rest  
Of those hard Terms in which his Passion's dressed;  
You'd swear a Woman by such Courtship won,  
Would not deny th' Address of a Baboon,  
Whose chattering she would understand as soon.  
Beyond her Knowledge all his Style does run,  
And if he wins her he's beyond his own;  
More dull the deeper in her Books he gets,  
That study where the wisest lose their Wits.   

But now comes one who (disregarded here)  
Flies to the Sea to quench his Passion there;  
And does expect from the more faithful Main  
A milder Fate than from her cold Disdain:  
Farewell, he cries; when of my Death you hear,  
In kindness let there fall one pitying Tear;  
My Ghost will then to the Elysian. Grove  
Fly pleased, else haunt you for neglected Love;  
Away he goes; the Winds, the Rocks, the Sand  
Less cruel thinks than her he left at Land:  
So far he's well:— but e'er his Travail ends,  
To vex her, he his Patrimony spends.  
In France, or Rome, at last his Heart he frees,  
His Passion loses, and gets their Disease,  
The main Commodity of either Nation,  
Here a False, Faith, and there a Salivation.  
Vain Fool! for such Relief so far to Roam!  
He might as well have met that Cure at home:  
Here Quacks in Surgery and Religion too  
Abound, which elder Britain never knew;  
Produced in every Corner of our Isle,  
As Heat does Monsters from the slime of Nile.  
Returned, some second Fair does now delight;  
Proud of the chance, to his old Mistress sight  
He brings the New, and Marries then in Spite.  
Exults, and Triumphs in his happy Fate:—  
— A Wife, the Pox, and not a Groat Estate.   

This Slave's attended by a Wretch as bad,  
Who by his 〈◊〉 of Pleasure is betrayed:  
Wo●● for Enjoyment only, and succeeds;  
(For little Courtship that Intention needs)  
And, 〈…〉 Mark is what all Coxcombs hit,  
He from that Minute dates himself a Wit:  
Glories that he the subtle Bait has took  
Without the Fate of hanging on the Hook.  
Not Dreaming, Idiot, tho' one Danger's o'er,  
He yet is nearer Ruin than before.  
For from Enjoyment she has took her Cue,  
Does Kneel, and Pray, and Swoon, and Weep and (Woo;)  
Since y'ave the Jewel take the Casket too,  
She cries, Ah! Can you throw her from your Arms  
Whose only Crime was yielding to your Charms?  
So Sweet you looked, so Passionately swore,  
I lost my Breath and could resist no more!  
If by such Words he's not prevailed to stay,  
Again she Knelt, again she Dies away.  
Thus Night and Day his Privacies she'll haunt,  
And make him swear anew to every Grant:  
Plies him so hard he's forced at last to Yield,  
For if he pities her h'has lost the Field.  
Whose Drab a Man may Marry is unknown,  
The fatal Proofs of that are daily shown;  
But of all Whores I least should wed my own.   

In this loose Train the Widower to behold,  
Will scarce obtain Belief, when it is told:  
By his good Fate; and Providence's Care  
Freed from the Yoke, who would not now beware?  
Saved from a Wrack and safely put on Shore,  
A thinking Man would trust the Rocks no more.  
But Mariners, you'll say must go to Sea,  
And there's for Wedlock more Necessity:  
Posterity must last, and Bread be had—  
And can't this be without my being Mad?  
If Tradesmen for the mere support of Life,  
Willing to suffer Discontent and Strife,  
Let (as their Consorts are cut off and Die)  
Another Hydra's Head the Place supply,  
What then? Must he that has a large Estate,  
And Children too that for Advancement wait,  
Adore and be at the same Amorous Pass  
As when, at Twenty, he Commenced an Ass?  
Bring a Stepmother to his Elder Brood  
(A sort of Creature always Poor and Lewd)  
And, gratifying her, no Right preserve?  
Her's have th' Estate, his former Children starve?  
Whoring is bad, its Consequences worse,  
But such a Marriage is the heavier Curse.   

But these not all, there's yet one Fool t'appear,  
Strutting like a Lieutenant in the Rear:  
The witty Fop, I mean, that Woos in jest,  
Conceives he's safe, and laughs at all the rest:  
Courts all, and all alike; and who believes,  
Born to be false, he certainly deceives.  
No Marriage comes within his lewd Intent,  
Yet talks as if he only Marriage meant.  
A Thousand Oaths of Constancy does Swear,  
And will be ever tampering with the Snate.  
Playing with Love, but makes the Snake grow warm,  
And there's a Time we can't avoid the Charm.  
His Weakness, or Neglect he'll surely show,  
That always will be parlying with the Foe.  
Examine all the Annals ever writ,  
You'll still find Woman was too hard for Wit.  
As when on Shipboard (as the Tale does run)  
The famous Monkey, playing with the Gun,  
Upon, now under, and now in would go;  
And this so oft repeated by the Beau,  
That off went Wisdom, and the Bullet too.  
Or as a Moth that round the Taper plays,  
Now here, now there it's Mealy Wings displays,  
Till bold at length, mistaking Fire for Light,  
He meets with Ruin where he sought Delight.  
Just so our crafty Coxcomb round the edge  
Of Wedlock wantoness, till the slippery sedge  
Upon the Bank gives way, and lets him in—  
Laugh! Hymen laugh! And let the satire grin!   

By this time I foresee Objections rise;  
A thankless Task the bidding Fools be wise.  
What Man, they'll say, can stand upon his Guard  
For ever? Such a Watchfulness were hard.  
Beside 'tis Nature's powerful Call; nor can  
That Sex be seen without Desire by Man.  
Not all our Courage, Wisdom, Power, or Art,  
Can bring Relief where Love has fixed his Dart.  
Even mighty Jove that could the Lightning tame,  
Melted himself before this Brighter Flame.  
Look but on Woman (for weare bid increase)  
And what hard Heart would have Coition cease?  
Angels at first, than Man was formed by Heaven,  
And to 'em both Transcendent Graces given:  
The first created Pure to wing the Skies,  
Where Beatific Visions feed their Eyes.  
The last, the Lord of this Creation made,  
With such a Look as all the Creatures awed,  
But in that Sex we Man and Angel find,  
In one Compendium both their Graces joined,  
Of human half, half of Celestial kind.  
In them both Heaven and Earth at once Unite;  
Framed fit for Love, and moulded for Delight!  
Delights that cannot! Should not be expressed!—  
O let us pause a while— and wish the rest!   

Hold! hold I cry! Or else 'tis mortal War,  
Stretch not your bold Hyperboles too far:  
Tho' all in heavens design at first was good,  
It must be with restriction understood.  
Believe not we'd have Propagation cease,  
But carried on with Innocence and Peace.  
And Men of Sense exempted from the Rules  
Of wedding Misery, and begetting Fools.  
Paul's wishing all like him does make it plain  
Those Men that please may single Life retain:  
His Words no other Sense but this can bear,  
Be free from Woman and y'are free from Care.  
'Tis true, we own they were by Nature meant,  
A Blessing to us, formed for our Content;  
Made in Prosperity our Joys to share,  
And in our Wants to mollify our Care:  
Not ordered to command us, but obey,  
And are to follow, not to lead the way;  
But we pervert that end, and, born to Rule,  
Meanly degenerate into Slave and Fool;  
Wast on their gaudy Trappings all our store,  
Then fall down to the Idol and adore.  
Hence to so vast a pitch her Pride does rise,  
All that deny her Homage she'll despise:  
Kind neither to Desert, or Wit, or Wealth;  
But hugs the Fool where she can see herself.  
The Mirror that returns her Image true,  
Where, by Reflection, she may have a view  
Of something always vain, and always new.  
With empty Sound and outward Gesture won,  
But bait the Hook with Fool the Work is done.  
Fool is their Food, their only dear Delight,  
Their daily longing, and their drudge at Night.  
The Man of Sense (tho' Marriage he may hate)  
Would in his Line continue his Estate;  
Even he, too, if he would successful prove,  
Must Ape the Fool, and seem the thing they love:  
Tho' he has enjoyed her he must still adore,  
Tho' Master be as servile as before,  
Or, chaste as Ice, she'll Married turn a Whore.   

Well then, you'll say, why all this Discontent?  
You do but rail at what you can't prevent.  
'Twas never known but Fools were numerous still,  
Wedlock a Snare, and Wives perversely ill.  
What Remedy can you to Man propose  
That he may not by Love, or Marriage lose?  
Could that be done in Vain you would not Write,  
Nor Envy say 'twas Prejudice and Spite.   

I answer, If Men will their Vice retain,  
And, when Convicted, let their Folly's Reign;  
Even Juvenal himself had writ in vain:  
In vain as far as it relates to them  
That will not mend, but not in vain to him.  
For tho' we can't of Reformation boast  
Our well meant Labours are not wholly lost,  
Virtue rewards its self; and he that would  
Convert the Vicious, then confirms the Good.  
But to come closer to you:— Would we use  
That Aid we have, and not our Wills abuse,  
A Thousand ready helps before us stand,  
Which the most stupid Idiot might command.  
What Man is there that can't forbear to Cringe?  
And hang his Hope upon that slender Hinge?  
Who need protest a painted Drab's Divine,  
When she is daubed more coarsely than a Sign?  
Who need at Woman's Scorn or Coldness pine,  
That may relieve himself with Friends and Wine.  
Who'd tear and rave, and think his Fortune ill  
Because one won't, when there's so many will?  
Why are Rich Presents squandered every Day?  
W' are not obliged to throw Estates away.  
Why Swearing? and of Lies a numerous Rout?  
Virtue would think as well of us without.  
Superior we; suppose we equal were,  
Why all that Adoration? Standing bare?  
Watching their Eyes? And placing (to our Cost)  
That Heaven in them by whom our Heaven was lost?  
May not all these, and numerous Follies more  
(Too shameful here to mention) be forbore?  
Convicted thus, even you must give your Voice.  
That all our Coxcombs Miseries are his Choice.   

Then the Adventurer who would happy be  
In Wedlock, must these Precepts learn of me.  
First, where he likes he must for Marriage sue,  
Be true himself, and always think her so.  
No Jealousy of Rivals must appear,  
For she'll be false if you her falsehood fear.  
Nor while you Woe be still protesting Love;  
Large Promisers the worst Performers prove.  
Then, after Wedlock, ne'er be heard contend,  
Happy! if you can make your Wife your Friend!  
Devour her not at once; but so enjoy  
As not to feed too sparingly, or Cloy.  
By dexterous Management, you still must show  
Her good results from her Delight in you.  
Give her full freedom; too severe restraint  
Estranges' Love, and makes Affection faint.  
Let her wear whet she will; your Happiness  
Lies in your being easy, not her Dress.  
No sullenness must in your looks be worn,  
And all her Pets must patiently be born,  
For y'are her Cuckold if y'are once her scorn.  
If all this keeps her not to Virtue fast,  
Conclude no Woman ever yet was chaste:  
But if this Usage does her Soul incline  
To Truth, she's happy, and her Joy is thine,  
And only so the Marriage Knot's Divine:  
For as it stands among the Vulgar Fry,  
Or Gentry either, where there's Jealousy,  
Jack Catch, s Noose is far the Holier Tye.   

All this is hard, you'll cry, extremely hard!  
And if such Doctrine met the World's regard,  
The Trade of Lisences would soon be marred.  
'tis what one of Ten Thousand never could do.  
— Faith, Sir, I am of your Opinion too.  
'Tis therefore I'm so earnest with the Men,  
Before they Noose to think— and think again.  
If with a Wife he Happiness would see,  
Just such a Creature must a Husband be:  
Nay often too with all this Kindness shown,  
His Heir shall be her Bantling, not his own.   

Thus, Sir, I've freely answered your request,  
Marry, or Mary not, as like's you best.  
But now 'tis time some Counsel to bestow  
Upon Sir Passionate, the Amorous Beau,  
That he at need may scape a scouring too.  
If in his Breast he finds the Poison strong,  
H'has then this Comfort 'twill not Rack him long,  
The warmer Love the sooner 'twill be cold,  
For no extreme in Nature long can hold.  
But if the Venom yet more dangerous prove,  
Take what I here prescribe— and laugh at Love.   

First set before your Eyes as fair a Piece  
As ever Ancient Rome produced, or Greece;  
Brighter than Helen that set Troy on Fire,  
And chaste as Infants that ne'er knew desire:  
That Icy Virtue keeps the Lover warm,  
(For nothing that's Immodest long can Charm)  
Strip but this Puppet of its Gay attire,  
Its— Gauzes, Ribbons, Lace, Commode and Wire,  
And tell me then what 'tis thou dost admire?  
First 'tis her pretty Shoe that so prevails;  
The charm can ne'erly in her Toes and Nails.  
Her Leg, long, little, wretchedly composed,  
Shall hinder what is worse to be disclosed,  
Only her Breasts there is no passing by,  
Because made bare to Court th' admiring Eye:  
These, when they Lace, up to their Chins they Buoy,  
And in short heave artfully employ:  
There they look well; but when the Night is come  
They're down again just even with the Bum.  
Next, let her natural Sett of Teeth be shown,  
If she's not Thirty, for she than has none;  
With eating Sweetmeats rotten from the Gum;  
So that her Breath is not the best Perfume.  
Her Face, indeed, we own were wondrous fair,  
If there a Head belonged to't that had Hair.  
Upon old Time you may a Forelock find,  
But theirs are false, or brought round from behind.  
Thus Woman, though by Fools and Flatterers Famed,  
Let her Defects from Head to Foot be named,  
Is the most vain unfinished Peice that Nature ever Framed   

This nice inspection of her Person done,  
Let all her little Implements be shown:  
Open her secret Boxes; Patches here  
You'll hoarded find, her Paints and Washes there:  
Loves artful Lime twigs, where the chattering Ape  
Sits Perched, and han't the Judgement to Escape;  
Pleased with his Station there the Buzzard sings,  
But finds his Shackles when he'd use his Wings.  
If in her Bed you e'er perceive her fast,  
Mind how her Face is crusted over with Past,  
Or nasty Oils used nightly to repair  
Her Skin, quite spoiled— with taking of the Air.  
The scattered Pieces of her artful Frame  
(More than would take up a whole Day to Name)  
Lie strewed around, and such a Prospect Yield,  
As Spoils when Routed Armies leave the Field.  
Hip-Cushions, Plumpers, Massy Pads for Stays—  
And thousand other things, dispersed a thousand ways.  
So that the Fair (like Bone lace when 'tis wrought)  
Can't altogether in one Piece be brought  
(Her Toils in order and her Amorous Gins)  
Without five hundred Pound a Year in Pins.  
A thoughtful Creature must conclude from hence  
The best of 'em not worth that vast Expense;  
That the short snatches of Delight we court,  
We pay so dear for that it palls the Sport.  
Then, what a perfume where she comes is lent?  
All over strewed to hide her natural scent.  
So they that stink of Onions, if they eat  
Garlic, 'twill make the fainter smell retreat;  
But then a stronger scent supplies the Room:  
And so she cures her Rankness by perfume.  
Thus Wooing different we from hunting find  
For there weare pleased when Puss is in the Wind.   

If o'er the Fop his Passion yet prevails,  
And he'll weigh Reason only in his Scales,  
Neither to be persuaded, forced or shamed,  
But, proud of Bondage, scorns to be reclaimed;  
Let him Woe on— A little time will show  
He is an Ass, and all our Doctrine true.   
FINIS.   

ADVERTISEMENT.  
UPON Information, That there is a design of Publishing of something upon this Subject, under the Name of the Author the satire against Woman, this is to acquaint the World, that the Author knows nothing of it, and there will be no other than this satire writ by him upon this Subject.