THE WITS paraphrased: OR, Paraphrase upon Paraphrase. IN A BURLESQUE ON THE Several late Translations OF Ovid's Epistles.  Juven. Sat. 10. 
Et facilis cuivis rigidi censura cachinni.  
LONDON, Printed for Will. Cademan, at the Popes-Head in the New Exchange in the Strand. 1680.   

TO HIS Super-superlative Accomplished, and more than Thrice-Ingenious FRIEND, Mr. JULIAN, Principal Secretary TO THE MUSES.  
SIR,  
I Should be too unreasonable, by a tedious Epistle, to divert you from those more weighty and serious Affairs wherein the greatest and most Eminent Wits of the Nation have thought you worthy to be employed, but that I find a mean nonsensical Preface over a Glass of Wine, without Purging or Blooding, is not sufficient to Commend so Illaborate a Piece, without a Dedication.  
Not that I am so much an Ape to follow the Fashion for any Fool's humonr, tho' it has been done long before me in the State of Ignorance, or, as the Author calls it, Innocence, or that I am affected with a gaudy Frontispiece to a mean Building, like a Close-stool with a Velvet Seat larger than the Pan that receives the Excrement, or a gaudy Miss in fine clothes, whose Outside is of greater value with the Brokers than the whole Body: But that I doubt so inconsiderable a piece of Paper-work against the loud, robustious Wits, will hardly be able to withstand the Storm without a Snpporter.  
And since I must have a Patron, to whom can I better Address myself than to one who for his singular Endowments and Eminent Qualifications, is not only of sufficient Abilities himself, but hath (as he justly merits) the whole Strength of the Nation for his Support.  
Besides, were I not obliged, on the account of your extraordinary Bounty, who have from time to time so plentifully stored me with all the Rubbish of the Age, to give you the Tribute of my mean Talon, I ought in Civility to beg your Pardon for Monopolising upon your property, besides your Apology to all our Friends for the Erratas of the Press, which you would not forgive the meanest Hackney without a Broadside of Curses.  
I must confess they are your Right, and you might have made that Advantage of them in single Sheets, which I never expected to make of the Impression.  
But I hope you, whom the wiser Fundaments have thought fit to make their Scavenger, will not leave this sudden motion a Nuisance to the vulgar Multitude, but preserve it from their Violence, till, like the rest of your former Collections, it comes to the best hands, and if it serves them in its proper Use, it shall be acknowledged a Favour beyond the Merit of  
Your most Divoted Friend and Humble Servant M. T.   

THE PREFACE TO OVID'S EPISTLES.  
THese Epistles of Ovid being so Elegantly Translated by the most Eminent wits of the Times, I will not presume so far upon myself, to think I can in a mean Burlesque add any thing to their vast Undertake.  Purpureus latè qui splendeat, etc. as Horace says. 
Nor will I trouble your Head or mine, to know whether this great Atlas in Poetry was banished for the lasciviousness of his Rhimes, or his Debauching the Emperor's Daughter; whether by Corinna, was meant Julia, or by Julia Corinna, of both, or neither. Nec flocci facio. This I dare with my Author affirm, That he was a Gentleman of an ancient Family, and had a pretty splendid Fortune; and whether he was designed for the Study of the Law or Gospel, I cannot tell: but this I dare presume to say, he was as smart a Wit, and as good a Poet, as He or I, or the very best of his Translators. Nescivit quod bene cessit. And though he had many Contemporaries, and notable Rhimes in his own time, yet I cannot in all the Catalogue of Virgil, Catullus, Tibullus, or Propertius, find, that ever he made Use of Club-wit, to help him out in his Epistles. O Tempora! O mores! Yet, in our Polite Age, it makes me wonder that so many able Workmen should join their Shreds and Thrums together, to dress him up in a Buffoons Coat, when I really conceit (and I question not but there are more Fools in the World of my Opinion) that I in my own simple naked shape, come nearer the Original than the best on 'em.  Quo simplicius, etc. 
But why Burlesque, an old-fashioned, short-wasted, crop-skirted Fustian jerkin, when long Robes is all the Mode? It is a plaguy thing to be out of the fashion. Pauper Aristoteles cogitur ire pedes. But needs must when the Devil drives. Praestat otiosum esse quam nihil agere. Well, were I a M. or a Sir C. for half their number of Acres in good English ground, I would quit all my Title to Parnassus, and engage never to write Burlesque; nay, not any thing else while I lived. Cedant Arma Togae. Who had not rather be an Ass and an Alderman, than a Wit and a Beggar; and had not rather hear the gingling of Guinneys, than the rattling of Rhimes? 'tis better Harmony: and thirty Foot in London well improved, is a better sight, and yields more Interest per annum, than forty Distiches of Heroick. O fortunati nimium! But every one to his Trade. Nemo sine Crimine vivit. I must confess, as they splayed the Author before, I have gelt them: and why not? if these Brothers of a Mystery join together to clip the King's English, because it comes first through their hands; and it fall next into my clutches, shall I not come in for a snack?  
I put no Silver Plate upon a Copper stamp; nor do I set my Rubies in Gold and inamelling, to make them pass for Diamonds, but show the downright brazenfaced naked truth of the matter. Nor am I half so guilty of Clipping as my Masters. Plura desunt. Of twenty four Epistlès of the Primitive Author, there are but twenty three left remaining, an those so mangled and torn, and misplaced from the decent Symmetry of Parts and Orders they preserved for above Seventeen hundred years, that you can neither make Back nor Breast, Head nor Tail of 'em. Tempora mutantur. For my part, I observe the Method of my Translators; and if I have omitted any thing that was proper for my purpose, it was either because the Subject would not admit of Burlesque, or because it was done to my hand. Telam texunt & retexunt. Yet you will say it was a bold attempt, for a Pigmy travesty to take up the Cudgels against those mighty Giants in Heroick; so many Briareus' hands joined against me, when I had not one Friend in the whole World to stick by me, to clap in a finger for a Preface, having scarce allowed me a fortnight's time for the Doing; as it was manifest to some Persons of Repute and Quality, who very well knew with what Expedition it was run off, and hurried into the Press, before I had time to peruse the Copies.  
But I do not hope to extenuate my faults by an Elaborate Epistle, or an insinuating Preface, so much Exploded amongst the Modern Sages: neither do I know the Use or necessity of troubling you with them, but that I would not be out of the Fashion. Verbum verbo. 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉 〈◊〉. I could convince you out of the Caldean, Arabic, and Syriack; but I think a plain Pica, or a good Italic, fitter for my Readers Capacity, as well as my own; and why should I trouble his Brains with what I do not understand myself? Verbum Sapienti. Lest then I should be thought more Affected than Learned, more Elegant than Pertinent, I submit to thy Censure, and conclude with my Translator,  Brevis esse laboro, obscurus sio.  

OVID's EPISTLES  
SAPPHO to PHAON.  
The ARGUMENT  
The Poetess Sappho being forsaken by her Lover Phaon (who was gone from Lesbos to Sicily) and resolved in Despair to drown herself, writes this Letter to him before she dies.  
WHile Phaon to the Hothouse hies,  
With no less Fire poor Sappho fries.  
I burn, I burn with Nodes and Pox,  
Like Fields of Corn with brand-tailed Foxes▪  
My Bagpipes can no longer please,  
Nor can I get one Minutes ease;  
Grunting all day I sit alone,  
And all my old dear Cronies shun.  
The Lesbian Sparks must claim no part.  
Where thou hast stung me to the heart.  
Ah wretch! how couldst thou be so cruel,  
In my hot blood to raise a fuel!  
When Youth and Beauty bid you stay,  
Then play the Rogue, and run away?  
If nought oblige but equal pelf,  
Go, keep your Favours to yourself.  
Yet, silly as I am, I knew  
The time, (which I shall ever rue;)  
A time for all your mighty looks,  
When I was something in your Books:  
A thousand Tales of fustion-stuff;  
For I remember well enough  
How close about my Neck you hung,  
When I began a Bawdy Song.  
You thought me chief amongst the Misses,  
And often stopped my Mouth with Kisses,  
Whose melting touch my Heart did stab,  
In Earnest of a coming Job.  
You used a thousand wanton tricks,  
And played the Devil on two sticks.  
We to the business stiffly stood,  
And did as long as doing's good;  
Nor could we for our Lives give o'er▪  
Till we were fit to do more.  
Beware Sicilian Wenches; he  
Will coaks you all as well as me.  
If you'll take notice of his sham's,  
He'll tell you a thousand lying Flams:  
'Tis such another flattering Villian,  
He'll cheat you all, were you a million.  
My Hair hangs down about my Knees,  
And falls as fast as Leaves from Trees.  
Of all ill Luck I am the Pattern;  
You'd swear I'm grown a very Slattern.  
For whom should I go fine and gaudy?  
Why without him I am no Body;  
And I ne'er loved to trick or trim  
Myself for any one but him.  
Oh! if I could but once more see  
That subtle piece of Lechery;  
'Tis not thy Love I ask, not thine,  
So thou wilt but accept of mine:  
But to sneak off when none did hold thee  
Without Farewell, I needs must scold thee.  
You might have said, you illbred Bumkin,  
God b'w'ye, kiss my Arse, or something:  
You might have ta'en your Leave at least,  
And not have gone off like a Beast:  
For hadst thou but the least word spoken,  
I had gi'n thee something for a Token;  
Tho' naught behind was left by thee,  
But Shankers, Shame, and Infamy.  
My Friends can witness what a quarter  
And din I made at thy Departure.  
When of thy Baseness I was told,  
I was ready even to die with cold;  
Speechless, one word I could not utter,  
Only what in my Cups I mutter:  
And tho' they brought good store of Alein,  
I could not speak one word for railing.  
At last, my Passion finding Vent,  
In a Distraction out I went,  
And like a Bedlam run about  
The Streets, in hope to smell thee out.  
Exposing all I had to see,  
Even all that jove had sent to me;  
Without Respect to Modesty,  
Forgetting Shame, and all but thee;  
So ill does Shame and Love agree.  
For thee alone my Rest I want;  
I cannot sleep for dreaming on't:  
Which made the Night more welcome to me  
Than any Day since you went from me.  
Yet little did I dream you went:  
For who'd dream of a Parliament?  
Or who would leave me here a Widow,  
To feed my Fancy with your Shadow?  
Yet spite of Absence, I make shift  
To help myself at a dead Lift.  
Wrapped in thy Arms the strokes I number,  
And do enjoy thee in a slumber.  
Thy Words I hear, thy Kisses feel,  
With all the Joys I blush to tell.  
But when I wake, and miss thee there,  
How I begin to curse and swear!  
Then to divert my present pain,  
Take t'other Nap, and to't again.  
Soon as I rese mad as a Hawk  
To see myself so plaguy bawked,  
I run to Bawdy-house and Stoves,  
The Scenes of our unhappy Loves.  
Then like a drunken Bitch I ramble,  
And rail alone at every Shambleses.  
Then do I cast my Eyes about  
Upon the little Bawdy Vault,  
Whose mossy floor, and roof of stone,  
Pleased better than a Bed of Down.  
But when I spied the grassy Bed  
Retains the print our Bodies made,  
On thy dear side I squat me down,  
And with a Flood the place I drown.  
For to refresh the withered Trees,  
Since thou art gone, with Virgin-Lees.  
No Birds frequent the Valleys now,  
But the vile Screetch-Owl, or the Crow;  
Who only mourn for scarcity  
Of Carrion, as I long for thee.  
Oh, Phaon, didst thou know my pain,  
Thou would thou wouldst come back again,  
With with Disease I got from you,  
My Eyes have got the Running too:  
My constant Tears the Paper stain;  
My hand can scarce direct my Pen.  
Or couldst thou see a little further,  
How I myself intent to murder:  
Didst thou but spy the fatal Loop,  
Sure thou would strive to cut the Rope.  
Peace, Sappho, cease thy idle gabble;  
Thou may'st as well appease the Rabble:  
Thou may (since thou art left behind)  
As well go piss against the wind.  
Cease, Fool, and since thou art forsaken,  
What you have lost you may go look.  
No more thy hopeless Love attend,  
But hang thyself, and there's an end.   

CONACE to MACAREUS.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Macareus and Conace Daughter and Son to Aeolus God of the Winds, loved each other incestuously. Conace was delivered of a Son, and committed him to her Nurse to be secretly conveyed away. The Infant crying out, by that Means was discovered to Aeolus, who enraged at the Wickedness of his Children, commanded the Babe to be exposed to wild Beasts on the Mountains; and withal, sent a Sword to Conace with this Message, That her Crimes would instruct her how to use it. With this Sword she slew herself: but before she died, she writ the following Letter to her Brother Macarcus, who had taken Sanctuary in the Temple of Apollo.  
IF menstruous Blood can make a spot,  
Imagine I am gone to pot.  
One hand employs my Pen, alas!  
With t'other hand I scratch my A—  
In that same posture now I write,  
Just as my Father used to sh—  
Would he were present with his Nose,  
T'extract the Essence of my close;  
That he might see while I am feigning  
To die, what Mouths I make with straining.  
jove made him sure a farting Elf,  
His Daughters are so like himself.  
The North and South, and all their Blunder,  
Are far beneath my posterns Thunder.  
Those he can rule; but his lewd mind  
Is like his huffing, unconfined.  
Oh! to what end am I created  
A Fool, to jove to be related?  
Or what avails his godly Pelf,  
When I am like to hang myself?  
We yoked in an unlucky hour,  
When you your Sister did deflower▪  
And though in you was no Remissness,  
We were too hot upon the Business.  
Why shouldst in Blood raise such a Blister,  
To make a Miss of thy own Sister?  
And why should I prove such another  
Fondling, to love thee more than Brother?  
For I loved too, and in thy Kisses  
I found a Bait that never misses.  
My Cheeks grew pale, and by my Strictness  
I got a fit of the Green-sickness.  
With longing Thoughts I grew so lean,  
I lost my Colour quite and clean.  
My Strength I lost, and lost my Blood;  
My Meat and Drink did me no good.  
I could not speak without a Tongue:  
My Slumbers short, my Nights were long;  
Yet knew no Cause, nor could I show  
A Reason for't, and yet I knew.  
My wicked Nurse that knew the Trade,  
An old experienced bawdy Jade,  
Well practised in the Art of Wooing,  
Found I was willing to be doing.  
'Tis Love▪ said she, and he is as stiff;  
Which made me blush like any Mastiff.  
At last the naked Truth she made me  
Confess; my very looks betrayed me.  
At length we stumble on the shelves;  
And what we did, we know ourselves.  
When half denying half contented,  
We met in full, and full conented;  
Then what with Joy, and what with that  
Of guilt, my heart went pitty-pat.  
My Roguery could not be hid  
When I began to be with Kid.  
What Slaps and Syrrups Nurse did vary,  
To make the Bantling to miscarry!  
All to no purpose, for you know  
No Carrion yet could kill a Crow.  
The sturdy Brat, young Hans en Keldar.  
Against all our Drugs his Lungs did shelter.  
Nine months were passed with Pangs & Tumbling▪  
When I complain of horrid Grumble;  
To that unhappy State I come,  
Pain urged my Cries, Fear kept me dumb.  
What plaguy Do they had t'unwhelp me?  
And Mother Midnight could not help me.  
When thou, th'occasion of the Fault,  
Come in as ragged as a Colt,  
Cried, Courage, Wench, holding my Back,  
My own dear Sister, and my Crack:  
That very Word brought forth the Wonder,  
And made my Haunches fall asunder.  
This Storm is over; but what is't, Brother,  
While the old Huff can raise another?  
At Council-board rocked in a Cradle,  
The King lay with his blundering Rabble,  
And through this hole, as Nick would have it,  
The child must pass, or he would slave it.  
The Nurse to save his pretty Grace,  
Put on a zealous brazen face;  
With Beads and Prayers she feigned to mutter,  
As if her Mouth could not melt Butter.  
In Double-clout wrapped in her lap,  
She through the Room thought to escape:  
But Pox on all ill Luck, the Whore  
Had hardly got him to the Door,  
When straight the Puppy fell a yelping,  
What Bitch of mine has been a whelping?  
Quoth he; and so he fell a plundering  
The Placket-geer like Light and Thundering.  
But when he found it was my Bastard,  
Defend me! how he stormed and blustered?  
As in his old fit of the Scurvy  
He'd blow the Nation topsy-turvy:  
He kept such horrid noise and thumping,  
I knew his meaning by his mumping.  
Never was Sculler in such pickle,  
When Winds hold forth in Conventicle,  
Then I, when he began to thunder me,  
My very Bed did tremble under me,  
He'd murder me for your deflowering;  
I had much ado to scape a scouring.  
But what went nearest to my Gizzard,  
In spite of Prayers, the blundering Wizard,  
To show his Malice by and large,  
And save the Parish of a Charge,  
He sends the Bastard to the Bogs,  
To be a Breakfast for the Dogs.  
To have our Bowels tore, and rend  
At such a rate, would vex a Saint.  
Nay more than that, he sent a Bully  
To catechise me for my Folly:  
Take this, much good may't do your heart.  
A Rope, said I? and here's a Fart.  
To hang I am not such a Mawking.  
Your Father sent it for a Token.  
I know my Father's tricks of old.  
Your Father sent you this, and told  
To th' Use of it your Crimes assist you:  
In short, 'twas 'cause your Brother kissed you.  
My Father might not been so rough:  
I smoke the business well enough.  
Well, tell him I'll obey his pleasure  
Some time when I am more at leisure.  
And is this all my Nuptial Dowry?  
In troth a very pretty story.  
Burn me alive if I'd not rather  
Be torn by Furies than my Father.  
I wish my Sister better luck,  
Warned by my Sample how to truck.  
Poor Monkey! 'twas no Fault of thine;  
It was thy Daddy's Sin, and mine.  
In a cursed hour thou did assail us,  
Dragged from the Cradle to the Gallows;  
Where for my Fault they did berave thee,  
Nor was it in my Power to save thee.  
We did the Mischief, thou must bang for't;  
I'll follow after, though I hang for't.  
And thou, my Comfort and Despair,  
Be sure thou bury us with Care:  
To drop a Tear if thou'rt so civil,  
Think for whose sake I'm gone to th' Devil.  
And keep my Will be sure the rather,  
'Cause I in this obeyed my Father.   

PHILLIS to DEMOPHOON▪  
The ARGUMENT.  
Demophon, who was Son to Theseus and Phaedra, in returning from the Trojan War into his own Country, was by a Tempest driven upon the Coasts of Thrace, where Phillis, who was the Queen of Thrace, entertained him, and married him. When he had stayed with her some time, he heard that Menestheus was dead; who after he had conquered Theseus, had usurped the Government of Athens: and under Pretence of settling his own Affairs, he went to Athens, and promised the Queen that he would come back again in a Month. When he had been gone four Months, and that she had heard no News of him, she writes him this Letter.  
I Did not think you such a Dunstable,  
That you should thus outrun the Constable,  
And stay so long from your own Phillis,  
As true a Wench as e'er was Willis.  
I gave you a Month, and thought 'twas well:  
But give an Inch, you'll take an Ell.  
Thrice did the Moon her horns renew;  
As many a time I gave 'em you.  
Did you the Hours and Minutes tell,  
As Phillis does, and loved so well,  
You'd think 'twere time you should be thronging  
To satisfy a Woman's Longing.  
With all the pleasure that is in it,  
I did expect you every Minute:  
And still I hoped for the better;  
But there's no trusting mortal Creature.  
A thousand bloody Oaths I swore,  
I saw thy Sculler make to shore;  
And all your Friends that stopped your Sail,  
I cursed 'em to the Pit of Hell.  
Sometimes I feared some old Curmudgeon  
O'th' Deep had gulpt thee for a Gudgeon;  
And begged of jove to let thee snort,  
Tho I was ne'er the better for't.  
I clapped my hand upon my Bum,  
And every blast I cried, he's come.  
Nay still I found some new pretences  
To cry thee up amongst the Wenches:  
And yet you stand upon Resistance,  
And keep a Body at such Distance,  
As if I were not worth the Longs  
To touch me with a pair of Tongues.  
I prized your Promise, like a Fool;  
But 'twas great Cry and little Wool.  
What have I done? I was a Beast  
To be so fond of such a Guest,  
Pox take all Foundlings: I can tell  
The cause, I loved you but too well.  
What signifies your flattering words?  
Where are your Gods? not worth two turds.  
Where's Hymen too, that old Matchmonger?  
I can't forbear him any longer.  
You swore by all that's good and right▪  
By Bell, by Book, and Candle-light,  
You'd never leave me while you stayed;  
Then hang an arse, and p●●y the Jade.  
You swore by all the Gods that be,  
(But what have they to do with thee?)  
By juno, Venus, ne'er to budge,  
Till Death depart, from your old Drudge.  
And what more than thy parting grieved me,  
I like a silly Jade believed thee.  
Who'd think thee such a damned Dissembler?  
But thou art worse, a very Rambler.  
When you came mumping Helm a Larbour,  
To look for shelter in my Harbour,  
My Charity I do not rue,  
In giving thee an Alms or two:  
But that it ever should be said  
I made thee free of Board and Bed,  
A Curse attend the Carrier down  
The first day brought thee to the Town,  
And gave thee that unlucky cast;  
I wish that day had been my last:  
Then had I died a Maid, and well,  
Tho' for it I led Ap●s in Hell.  
Is it for such a pickled Sturgeon,  
Such ' business to deceive a Virgin?  
You've got a Booty, march, God b'w'ye,  
My Maidenhead, and much good do ye;  
And all the good you got thereby,  
You may even put it in your Eye.  
When all your Friends lay strong Devices,  
And get a Fame by fight Prizes,  
This for your Honour we'll entrench,  
That you betrayed a silly Wench.  
Of all thy Father's acts and merits,  
Which thou so naturally inherits,  
Like him thou hast one good condition,  
The gift of lying by commission.  
He stole from Ariadne's Bed,  
And she the better bargain had:  
But I am shunned by Rook and Bully,  
For yielding to so mean a Cully.  
Cry, Let her march off with a Pox;  
We'll find a Fool to rule the fo'ks.  
Yet should you come again, as soon  
You'll find 'em in another tune:  
Then would they say, the Cuckold, let her  
Take him again, she can't do better.  
But why should I fish in this Puddle,  
And with such Crotchets crack my Noddle?  
He's gone for ever, gone to pot;  
Rubbed off with what small Gear he's got.  
Although he screwed with other Pegs,  
When you were last between my Legs,  
How sweet upon me were you then?  
You kissed, and swore you'd come again.  
Drowned in a Flood we both were laid,  
That very night you pissed the Bed.  
Cursing Misfortune, Wind, and Wether,  
That part which brought us first together;  
Then said, methinks I hear thee still,  
I'll come, upon my Life I will.  
You'll come, but when, the Devil's blind.  
Can I expect you'll be so kind,  
When I'm convinced you played the Wag  
On mere design to give the Bag?  
Yet I could wish with all my heart  
And guts thou'd make a little start.  
What do I ask? Thou hast perhaps  
Another Trollop by the Chaps;  
And has by this forgot my Name,  
What Gear I am, or whence I came.  
But I shall strive to blow the Embers,  
And study to rub up your Members.  
'Twas I thy ragged state condoling,  
Preserved thee when thou came a stroling:  
Kept thee from stinking in the Socket,  
With many a Twopences lined thy Pocket.  
I gave thee all, I gave so fast,  
The Devil and all, myself at last;  
My Farm in Copyhold and Tail,  
In Trust, till you began to fail:  
Which was too much for any woman  
To occupy without a Common:  
Which makes me wish thee in my Warren,  
For fear the Burrow should grow barren.  
All day I view the winds with sadness,  
Ready to drown myself for madness.  
In the next Pond just like a Bedlam,  
Was like to throw myself down headlong.  
Nay, since you use me thus so ill,  
I am resolved to do it still.  
Sometimes I think to make a proof  
Of Hemlock, Ratsbane, or such stuff:  
Then to revenge me on the Elder,  
Would stab thee through in Hans en Keldar;  
Or in a Noose of Hemp or Leather,  
Surer than that brought us together,  
Think decently myself to strangle,  
And in that plight hang dingle-diangle.  
Thy Wife, the flouts are thrown upon her,  
Thus with my Life to clear my Honour:  
There on my Tomb write this Inscription,  
Who dearly loved to be a bitching:  
Here lies poor Phillis, worth a Million,  
The truest jade to th' falsest Villain:  
He was the cause of her undoing;  
And thank herself for her own ruin.   

HERMIONE to ORESTES.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Hermione, the Daughter of Menelaus and Helena, was by Tindarus her Grandfather (to whom Menelaus had committed the government of his house when he went to Troy) contracted to Orestes. Her Father Menelaus not knowing thereof, had betrothed her to Pyrrhus the Son of Achilles; who returning from the Trojan Wars, stole her away. Whereupon she writes to Orestes as follows.  
TAke this, Orestes, with commendation  
From your own Buttock and Relation;  
Nay more, your Wife, but that I buckled  
T'another since, and made thee Cuckold.  
All that a silly woman knew,  
I strove against, but 'twould not do.  
Stand off, said I, and quit my Placket,  
Or my good man will brush your Jacket.  
Yet did he drag me by the Breech,  
Through th' gutters, like a new-limed Bitch.  
What could I suffer more of Rack,  
If all Troy-Town were on my back?  
If thou hast left one dram of kindness  
For an old Friend, use no more shiness;  
But like a Tiger come, my Rogue,  
Save me from this Whore-mastring Dog.  
What, can you turn a Tory-catcher,  
And see me ravished by a Thatcher?  
Think how my Father, that old Coxcomb,  
Fell on his Rival with a Pox to 'em;  
And to redeem his little Crack,  
Raised all the Town upon his back.  
Had he had not hectored, huffed, and tore,  
At such a Rate, he'd lost his Whore.  
Nor need you send a Crowd to huff him,  
Yourself will be enough to cuff him.  
Nor will you sure yourself disparage;  
You're mine by Blood, as well as Marriage.  
Then make all speedy preparation  
To save your Wife, and your Relation.  
When the old Pimp secured me yours,  
I little dreamt of a Divorce;  
Or e'er to stretch my hams abroad  
To one I hated like a Toad.  
So well you tickled up my Toby,  
I never could endure this Looby.  
Full well my Father knows, the Lecher,  
What 'tis to love old Coney-catcher:  
And I must do't, what e'er come after;  
You know I am the Father's Daughter.  
My Case is his; and Pyrrhus carries  
A thieves look too, as well as Paris.  
Let 'em all crack of Deeds and Wonders,  
Of their high Birth, of Claps, and Thunders,  
Of jove and juno, and the rest on 'em,  
Thou art as well born as the best on 'em.  
And can I, having tongue to use't,  
Stand by, and see my Friends abused?  
I've one way left before my dying,  
And that's to break my heart with crying.  
But what does't value while helyes out?  
For should I cry my very Eyes out,  
Cat after kind, I can't escape,  
We're all too subject to a Rape.  
I need not tell you how a Swan  
Ravished my Granny for a man:  
How Hippodame the Youth did gull her,  
And drove her in an open Sculler:  
Poor Tinder ravished by a Boy,  
And afterwards sent back from Troy.  
I scarce remember it, and yet  
Now I think on't, I remember it.  
So like the rest of my cursed Kindred,  
I'm kept from thee by such as hinder it.  
If old Achilles had but seen,  
I'll burn if ever this had been;  
He would not to part man and wife,  
Do such a trick to save his life.  
Ye Gods, what was my Accusation,  
To come of such a Generation!  
My Dam, that picture of ill luck,  
She was as true as ever struck.  
'Tis a strange Race, while she was chief in't,  
If there be neither Whore nor Thief in't,  
Scarce had my Father turned his back,  
To Paris she became a Crack:  
As soon as e'er the Wittol left her,  
Who like a Fool run madding after,  
He to the Wars, she with her Cully,  
While I was left without a Bully;  
For that same Booby Pyrrhus, he  
Had never one good look of me.  
Orestes is my whole delight;  
But if you'll have me, you must fight:  
Pyrrhus detains me since the War began,  
That's all the good I got by th' bargan.  
All day I sit, while Gossip's chat,  
As melancholy as a Cat:  
Sometimes I grunt, sometimes I grumble,  
And all the night I toss and tumble:  
At sight of him I burst out so,  
I make a Chamber-pot overflow:  
And while I slabber, spit, and drivil,  
I hate him as I do the Devil.  
Tho' under Canopy of Diaper,  
I eat him as I would a Viper:  
And when he gets within my Quarters,  
I cry, Orestes, beshrew your Garters.  
That very fancy makes me do  
The thing which I should act with you.  
Orestes, come, and make him fly for't;  
I'll be thy Wench, or else I'll die for't.   

LEANDER to HERO.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Leander accustomed nightly to swim over the Hellespont to visit Hero (Priestess of Venus' Temple) being at last hindered by storms, sends her the following Epistle.  
ACcept this Token from your most,  
Who'd rather been himself the Post▪  
Smile, Sweet, or if you win my heart,  
I had as lief you'd let a Fart.  
'Twou'd be a Token of thy Kindness,  
Since thy Leander's left in blindness,  
And cannot see, ill chance so happens,  
Thy face without a brace of Capons.  
When Seas and Winds oppose my Team,  
For there's no striving against the stream,  
Then I betook me to my Writing;  
'Twill serve you when you go a sh— ing.  
Blessed Paper! to what happy pass  
Art thou ordained, to kiss her A—  
Seven nights, with cursing wind and weather,  
I have not set my Eyes together.  
Tho' I can see for all their pother,  
As deep in Millstone as another;  
From highest Cliff, though ne'er so active,  
I could not spy thee with Prospective.  
This cross-grained ●it I had the leisure  
To think upon our former Pleasure;  
And like the Billows in the main Sea,  
Dissolve myself in strength of fancy.  
'Twas Night when I first wrought the Port;  
Plague on the Quean that spoiled the sport▪  
When I did tread, thy poor Leander,  
The Hellespont like any Gander,  
And Cynthia looked pale and meager,  
As if she envied us together.  
My arms grew weak, when hopes t'unrig her,  
With thoughts of thee put on new vigour;  
And billows fly about my chaps,  
In a fresh storm, as thick as hops.  
Soon in the window I espied  
Thy Candle-snuff, this was my Guide,  
When starved with cold the glimmering Blaze  
Did make me put on heart of Grace;  
And more than Sops of Honey-suckles  
Did in the Flood revive my Cockles.  
Then looking sharp, caged like a Parrot,  
I spy thy Hawks-bill in the Garret.  
Strait thou espies, and tho i'th' dark,  
Full glad thou was to see thy Spark;  
And met me half way over, rot it,  
So mad you were for to be at it.  
The shore I gained, nor did you stickle  
T'accept me in that rueful pickle▪  
Clothed me, and on my naked Dock  
Unstript yourself to clap your Smock,  
Leaving your Bum without a Case,  
Naked and bear as a Birds Arse.  
What then we did, ourselves know best,  
Nor ought the Deed to be expressed.  
We knew 'twas short, and thought no crime  
To make the best Use of our time.  
So eager were we on the Plunder,  
To recollect would be a wonder.  
'Tis day; and now I sneaked with groans,  
Like an old Dog had lost his stones.  
I go away as after frightening,  
But I return like Fire and Lightning.  
Sestos I loathe, my native Cottage,  
With thee I'd rather sup Pease-pottage.  
Why won't Abydos then come hither?  
Since we piss in a Quill together.  
We're linked in Body, linked in Mind;  
Why should not then our Farms be joined?  
The Seas and Winds keep me aluff,  
Depending on an humorous Huff:  
They lose me many a Bout, and mar all  
My Visits till they end the Quarrel.  
When first upon the shore I lighted,  
The Fishes looked as they were frighted;  
And gazed upon my brawny Haunches,  
As they were scared out of their senses.  
But now they make no wonder on me,  
I am become a mighty Cronie;  
And since I'm stopped by th' weather the Calves  
Do miss me much, my Brother Sea-calves.  
Oft have I cursed the tiresome way,  
But oftener far have damned my stay.  
To sculk at home each storm that's pelting,  
As if I were afraid of melting.  
If Summer-blasts keep us asunder,  
What shall we do in Snow and Thunder?  
Even than I will not stay much longer,  
But plunge away like any Conger.  
T' allay the boasting winds, I'll cuff 'em;  
And if they want assuage, I'll huff 'em.  
Of my glad escape thy arms are proof,  
There I confess I'm warm enough;  
Or if I die the Road along,  
Then there's an end of an old Song.  
I know the Floods will have the grace  
To waft me to the wont place▪  
Or if they don't, my amorous Carcase  
Knows all the windings to your Staircase;  
Which sure in Compliment you'll greet  
With tail of Shift for Winding-sheet:  
Yet can't with stroking hand restore  
The Part you oft revived before.  
If this offend you, use your Charms  
To launch me safer through the Storms:  
But when you have me in your Station▪  
Then let it roar, and tear the Nation.  
'Twill give my stay some fair pretences  
To gratify my lewder Senses.  
Till then, admit this Scrawl to blossom,  
And gather Flowers in your Bosom.  
Lodged in thy breast 'twill be some comfort,  
Although it after kiss thy Bum for't.   

HERO'S Answer to LEANDER.  By the same Hand. 
WIth laughing when I read your Prose,  
I was ready to bepifs my hose:  
And nothing else, except your stick  
Could so much tickle me to th' Quick.  
Excuse my Passion (Sir) for no man  
Can find the bottom of a Woman.  
You can divert yourself with roaring,  
About your business, drinking, whoring,  
Hunting and hawking, and the same;  
For well I know you love the Game:  
Lay Traps to catch the Fox and Goose,  
While you forget your amorous Noose.  
While I've no more to ease my Clog  
Than Patience, medicine for a Dog;  
Or with my Nurse sit down complaining on't,  
To know what plague should be the meaning  
About the Coasts I keep a racket,  
And send to thee by every Packet.  
When Night draws on, I keep me waken,  
And light a Candle for a Beacon;  
Advance the Snuff upon the Save-all,  
Each hour expecting thy Arrival.  
Then poring o'er my work, I wonder,  
What plague's become of my Leander?  
I'm so besotted with thy fails,  
That I can think of nothing else.  
What thinks thou, Wench, is my Leander  
Returned as yet, or is he yonder?  
Come pray thee tell me, is he stripping,  
Already plunged, and forward tripping?  
While sleepy as a Dog, and nodding,  
The drowsy wretch replies a Pudding.  
Yet can't I from thy fancy waver  
He's come, he's coming now or never.  
Then Jayl-bird-like in Grate I'm placed,  
And many a longing look I cast:  
Each nook and corner I examine,  
And pray the Floods that they may damn him  
When next he crossed them, for his wronging  
And bawking thus a woman's longing.  
Each voice I hear: if Nurse but sneezes,  
Or break behind in gentle Breezes,  
I straight conclude the wind is western,  
And 'tis the music of the Postern.  
At last, my comfort, while I snort,  
I fancy we are at the sport;  
I clasped my shanks about your middle,  
And thought you played upon my Fiddle,  
My Fountain burst into a stream,  
But Pox upon't, 'twas but a Dream;  
For though I think on nought but you,  
Without yourself 'twill never do:  
'Tis like a Banquet of Black-puddin  
Without a dram of fat or blood in.  
Last night indeed you'd some pretences  
To keep you back, besides your Wenches;  
The Seas were rough: but now 'tis fair,  
You might afford to take the Air.  
You need not, finding no resistance,  
Keep a poor Devil at such distance,  
And hold that cheerful Cup of Mantling  
From her that longs like one with Bantling.  
Is it for fear you shift and shuffle?  
I knew you in a harder scuffle:  
If it be so, still be a stranger,  
Rather than hazard any danger.  
But still I beg, if aught befell,  
Keep counsel, do not kiss and tell.  
Not of thy Change there's any rumour,  
But that it is my simple humour.  
For since I see your base Contrival,  
I fear not absence, but a Rival.  
Return ye Floods that hither blew him,  
And let him come, with a murrain to him.  
A lucky sign! I see a Gander  
Ith' Candle; oh! 'tis my Leander.  
My Nurse's tail has got a Drum in,  
And swears 'tis token of your coming▪  
And has observed by the Crickets▪  
Some Strangers making towards our Thickets.  
Come then, Leander, cross the Ditch,  
That I may say she is a Witch:  
I cannot budge without thee; come,  
No Pillow like Leander's Bum.  
To show I'm willing, I will meet thee  
Chin-deep i'th' Hellespont to greet thee.  
My Thing's my own; while no one sees,  
Sure I may use it as I please.  
A Pox of Fame and Reputation,  
Why should it spoil our Recreation?  
How couldst thou from our warmer Pillows  
Thy Hero leave, to hug the Billows?  
In such a storm to cross the Road,  
Tarpolling durst not peep abroad?  
For all your boasting and bravadoes,  
You must not think for to invade us;  
Nor must you strive to swim, when Oars  
And Scullers dare not cross the shores.  
I oft advised you, but 'twas nonsense,  
For it went even against my Conscience;  
Yet when I think on't, in the morning  
I cannot choose but give thee warning.  
Nor would I have thee cross the stream  
By any means, for last night's Dream:  
Methoughts I saw a monstrous Sturgeon,  
All battered, crying for a Surgeon,  
All naked too, cast by the flood,  
Which I'm afraid portends no good.  
What e'er it be, I would advise thee  
Be merry and wise, let that suffice thee.  
The storm's so high, it can't be lasting;  
Then once more veuture a Bombasting.  
Till then, thy Hero's fate condole,  
And stay thy stomach with this Scroll.   

LAODAMIA to PROTESILAUS.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Protesilaus lying wind-bound at Aulis in the Grecian Fleet designed for the Trojan War, his Wife Laodamia sends this following Epistle to him.  
AFter my hearty Commendation,  
Thy Laodam sends Gratulation.  
The scolding storms that scared thee from me,  
Why don't they send thee packing to me?  
Would Hurricanes destroyed their Hutches,  
So I but had thee in my Clutches.  
In haste thou thronged to be a Warrior,  
But thou'lt return with Long the Carrier.  
So raging mad I was to see thee,  
I could not frame to say, God b'w'ye.  
A merry gale in stern abaft her,  
And oft I cried, Fair weather after.  
I looked and looked, till by this Light,  
I looked, and looked thee out of sight.  
Then did such fits o'th' sudden hold me,  
That I was ready to befoul me.  
My Sire and Dam grieved at the Mischance,  
Came running all to my assistance;  
With water and some Rags they threw,  
They made me clean with much ado.  
They meant it well, but had been kinder,  
To leave me here to the Gold-finder.  
My Bowels grumble, down I sit,  
And fall into another fit;  
Since which, undressed, my Coats do flow  
About my Ears, I know not how.  
Thus I run staggering round about,  
Like one of Pem— drunken Rout.  
Put on, put on, your Gown and Mantue,  
My Neighbours cry, the Gossips want you.  
Alas! you may go dress, talk bawdy,  
What joy have I in going gaudy?  
Shall towers and Knots my head environ,  
And he have nothing but cold Iron?  
I'll cast my Snout o'er my right shoulder,  
And be a Slut while you're a Soldier.  
Paris, I wish thee ne'er a Rag,  
Or that thy Nell had been a Hag.  
Oh Menelaus! I see clearly,  
Thy Wenches Tricks will cost thee dearly.  
From me, ye Gods, divert the Thunder,  
And send him laden home with plunder.  
But when you talk of Wars, you stolen me;  
My very heart begins to fail me.  
Hector I fear, that blundering Hector,  
Of Limbs they say, a great Dissector,  
My dear, if thou observe me duly,  
Beware of that notorious Bully;  
Nay all, to be thy Life's Protector,  
Lest every one should prove a Hector.  
Give to those mighty men of Arms way,  
And keep thy Coxcomb out of harms-way.  
Let the fond Cuckold hew and thump it  
Through all the Crowd, to his old Strumpet.  
They are another sort of cattle;  
But we should fight a safer Battle.  
Brave Trojans, spare your bloody Hanger,  
From one that is not worth your anger.  
My poor good-natured Fool in place  
Of Danger dare not show his Face.  
I'th' field he stands aloof, and blunders;  
But in the Sheets he can do wonders.  
Let them go fight, and find a Tomb  
Abroad, can do no grace at home.  
To let thee go, by what the Wizard  
Informed me, went against my gizzard:  
When you were like (I heard her mumble)  
To crack your Crupper with a stumble.  
Be not too forward in your anger,  
Or you may chance to rue the Danger.  
The first that lands upon the spot,  
You know is destined to the pot.  
Be not too hasty in the heap,  
But learn to look before you leap.  
To get a broken Pate or so,  
You'll be too soon, tho' ne'er so slow.  
In thy retreat bestir thy thighs;  
And if you fall, stay not to rise.  
When shall I split my hoofs asunder,  
And in thy paws lie melting under?  
Catch thee alone to tell me stories  
Of Cocks and Bulls, and Trojan Tories;  
Then make a thousand wanton pauses,  
With scrubbing Gills, and rubbing Noses.  
But when I think on Troy, I feel  
My Spirits sunk into my heel;  
And tho' the Winds were quite contrary,  
No Mischiefs could persuade thee tarry.  
All Switches and Spur, for old Pug Nasty;  
To hang you would not be so hasty.  
How canst thou hope to go through stitch,  
To side with an Adulterous Bitch?  
But I'll ne'er waste my Lungs upon't,  
Bouse on, and see what will come on't.  
Poor Trojan Cullies, troth, I pity ye,  
To see a Harlot thus beshit ye:  
I see how Nell intends to buckle  
Up with her Groom, poor Hector truckle.  
I see how she collogues, and grudge  
The Simpering of her weary Drudge.  
She leads the Wittol by the hand,  
And he returns at her Command.  
To bear the Horns he is not nice;  
Obeys, and thinks he has a prize:  
Now he returns, and she with speed  
Receives him to polluted Bed.  
We Women 'cause we cannot flatter,  
Must make the best of a bad matter.  
Yet still thy Picture I am wooing:  
Pox on't, it cost a Groat the Drawing.  
That I caress, and decently  
I place it there where thou should be  
I talk, and hug, and smug, and tried all  
The ways to please the pretty Idol.  
But by this Light and Candle burning,  
If I hear not of thy Returning,  
As this is drink, and by this Cup,  
As I intent to drink it up,  
To whate'er Coast thou runs a Madding,  
Since thou delights to be a gadding,  
I'll come and stick upon thy skirt,  
As close as ever Sweat-wrung Shirt.  
Farewell; but pray thee bear in mind  
Thy Dowsabel thou left behind.   

PARISH to HELEN.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Paris having Sailed to Sparta for the obtaining of Helen, whom Venus had promised him as the reward of adjudging the prize of Beauty to her, was nobly there entertained by Menelaus, Helen's Husband; but he being called away to Crete, to take possession of, which was left him by his Grandfather Atreus, commends his Guest to the care of his Wife. In his absence Paris Courts her, and writes to her the following Epistle.  
TO thee my Duck, and pretty Sweeting,  
Thy Paris sends all Health and greeting;  
Tho' he (unless you be so kind)  
Have for himself left none behind.  
Shall I then speak? Or is't your pleasure  
I stay till we have better Leisure,  
When fear of Folks may not disturb us,  
And we may do it to the purpose?  
But if you'd needs my Pipes be draining.  
And by my Mumping know my meaning;  
In short, I love, you pretty Brat you,  
And have a Month's mind to be at you.  
Forgive me, Nell, I am so blunt;  
Our Betters have before us don't.  
I must confess I'm full of grief,  
And hope you'll give your Slave Relief▪  
How am I tickled with conceit,  
To think these Lines shall kiss your Feet?  
I hope if they creep in your Favour,  
You'll show myself no worse Behaviour.  
And sure those hopes can't be betrayed,  
If Venus has not played the Jade:  
She promised me for Service done her,  
You should be Mine, upon her Honour;  
And for that cause I crossed the Kennel,  
To come here fawning like a Spaniel:  
I brought my Passions here, not found 'em;  
(Would by the way I could have drowned 'em.)  
I come but for my Due, beshrew you,  
You were my own before I knew you;  
And e'er thy pretty Pigsneys I  
Beheld, I had thee in my Eye.  
No marvel then at such a wideness,  
Your arrows thus did gall my Kidneys:  
'Twas so decreed; and less you glory  
In your own Bane, observe this story.  
I was predestined for my Nelly  
ere I was born, in Mother's Belly;  
Who dreamt she did the Baby dandle,  
Delivered of a farthing Candle.  
She scared, the Baggage at the Vision,  
To Conjurer hies with Expedition:  
They said with Fire I Troy should ruin;  
But sure it must be with my wooing.  
For fear, they sent me to the Bogs,  
To keep the Sheep, and tend the Hogs:  
A proper, handsome, sturdy, tall Fool;  
And well they knew I was no small Fool.  
In Ida's Copse there is a Thicket,  
And there we often used to neck it;  
Where there was neither Cat nor Mouse,  
Nor Pasture for to graze a Louse.  
Leaning against a stump of Bryer,  
I saw one posting through the Mire.  
Such noise the very place I stood in  
Shivered for fear, like Devon pudding.  
When strait I knew by's Badge of mortar,  
Old jove had sent me his own Porter.  
Led in his hand the Pimp had brought me  
Three bouncing Wenches, and besought me  
I should decide the strife, and stop all  
Their Mouths that watered for an Apple.  
He spoke, and flew up in a Machine,  
According to the modern fashion.  
When I perceived what was to do,  
I grew so proud there was no ho.  
I viewed them round, Each in their turn,  
Naked and bald as they were born.  
They each deserved, while I did fall  
Hornmad I could not please them all.  
But there was one, my Mouth did water  
Above the rest for to be at her.  
And who think you it was? I gave it  
To Venus, as the Devil would have it.  
Nor did I do it at her own Quest,  
'Twas for your sake I gave the Conquest:  
Who for Reward assured me after,  
I should enjoy your Mother's Daughter.  
Mean while, I'm cooped amongst the Eagles,  
And owned as one of Priam's Beagles:  
The shepherds threw their Crooks away,  
And all the Court kept Holiday.  
Stark mad for me run all the Wenches,  
As I for thee have lost my Senses;  
All the long night I melt like Jelly,  
And dreamt of nothing but my Nelly.  
What Doings then beneath the Cadow,  
When I'm so ravished with your shadow?  
Sure I must burn when I come nigher,  
That Scorched at such remote a Fire.  
And now my Passion growing stronger,  
I had no power to stay longer:  
In spite of fortune, wind, and weather,  
Father, and Friends, and all together,  
I launch out, and away I come,  
To have a fillip at thy Bum.  
Fortune that brought me to your shore,  
Did land me in a lucky hour:  
Your Husband, Good man, did contrive all  
Obliging ways to grace his Rival;  
And I, to quite his Kindness, took hold  
Of all swift means t'oblige the Cuckold.  
Since I for thee my own dear Nell come,  
Will you not also bid me welcome?  
He kindly took me home, and stored me  
With all respect he could afford me;  
Showed me the Town, the Spartan Sages,  
The Puppets, Drolls, the Stews and Stages:  
But nothing pleased my Eye or Belly,  
But the enjoyment of my Nelly.  
The sight of thee revived my heart;  
The rest I valued not a fart.  
Such are thy Charms, did thou but send  
When the three Blousses did contend,  
Thou out of joint had put her Nose,  
I should a Shit in Venus' hose.  
Thou should have got the golden Ball  
For thy sweet sake I'd bawkt 'em all.  
Thy beauty bears away the Bell,  
And all the Parish rings of Nell.  
It made indeed a grievous Clutter,  
And does exceed what Fame did utter.  
Thou art so pretty, neat, and dapper,  
I cannot blame the old Kidnapper;  
Make choice of thee above a Duchess,  
And ' gross thee wholly in his Clutches.  
But simply then to let you go!  
For shame I would not serve thee so,  
Nor should thou scape my Claws, 'tis I  
Had got one Touch at G'ammar hi.  
Come then, my wench, and I will show  
What mighty Wonders I can do:  
Let us, since thou hast got my heart,  
Join Giblets once, and never part.  
I might have had a Crown and Sceptre  
From juno, if I would a leapt her.  
I might have done with Pallas too,  
But I refused 'em all for you.  
Nor am I such a slippery Eel,  
To rue my choice; I'm true as Steel.  
Do thou bear up as true to me,  
As I 'bove all do value thee.  
Nor need you, tho' you are allowed  
A little handsome, be so proud:  
I am, for all your pretty pelf,  
As well descended as yourself.  
My Father has been twice Churchwarden,  
And has as large a house and Garden:  
There you shall see the ancient Riddles  
How Troy was built with Harps and Fiddles:  
The stately Courts and houses grow  
With yellow Roofs of Golden straw:  
Wagons and Carts, and spacious Pallets,  
And crowds of People singing Ballads:  
Whole troops of Dames in Trojan shape,  
And Wenches shining in their Crape;  
Which you'll prefer before the shabby  
And tawdry vest of Spartan Tabby;  
And must confess one Crate will tillage  
More furrows there than all your Village.  
I do not flaunt you with miscarriage,  
Or that I would your house disparage:  
But you that should be decked at least  
With all the splendour of the East,  
Should not sit ragged, and condole  
A way your days in a blind hole.  
That face should be adorned, my Girl,  
To make folk gaze, with paint and pearl.  
See by my Trojan Livery,  
What tearing sparks the Ladies be.  
Disdain not then, my pretty Jade,  
To take a Trojan to your Bed.  
jove, that thinks scorn to be a Sutler,  
Yet took a Trojan for his Butler:  
And fair Aurora to her Lodging  
Did hardly blush to take a Trojan:  
And Venus put on all Disguises  
To make a Cully of Anchises;  
Nor ranked with him, your Husband can  
Be thought the better Gentleman.  
My Sire ne'er caused the Wain to stay,  
And rob the Horses of their Hay:  
My Race are of no Newgate-order,  
Tainted with Felony or Murder:  
Nor were they tantalised in Fables,  
Or whipped for stealing Plumbs and Apples.  
To grace your Husband, you must flatter  
Your Kindred jove to mend the matter.  
Ye Gods, that such a smallbeer Trooper,  
Not worthy scarce to kiss thy Crupper,  
Should hug, and lug, and coaks, and flatter,  
And thy poor Paris mouth make water?  
What shall I do? still tongue and smack,  
And I ne'er come in for a snack?  
When you the Bantling chuck, I take  
And hug the Brat for th' Mother's sake.  
Sometimes I take the Pot to piss,  
And from my Bauble blow a kiss.  
Sometimes I try to Bribe your Woman:  
She tells me I'm a sot, and no man.  
If I cannot your favour won,  
I wish by any means 't were done,  
By foul or fair, 'tis all as one.  
Then in a Prayer as I begun,  
I throw me at your feet along—  
Oh thou more bright and glittering Peacock,  
Than both thy Brothers in a Haycock!  
And fitter far for the Abodes  
Of Trojan Dukes and Pagan Gods:  
Either to Troy with thee I'll budge,  
Or here I'll die thy mortal Drudge.  
I could say more, but 'twill be better  
When we are both alone together.  
Perhaps you will pretend, and scorns  
To make your Ninny wear the horns.  
Oh Nelly, can you be so simple  
To think your Face without a Pimple?  
Or change that Face, or be more kind:  
Beauty and Grace are seldom joined.  
If thou thy Parent's virtue connest,  
Can jove and Leda's Brat be honest?  
Yet be as honest as you can,  
At Troy, she's so that keeps to one.  
But now, my Pug, Let's do a little,  
Now in the absence of your Wittol.  
He Courts you to it, who because  
He'd spoil no sport, kindly withdraws.  
No other time to go to Crete?  
Ho'w obliging is a Cuckold's wit?  
His chiefest Care above the rest,  
You should be civil to your Guest;  
But you forget the charge was given,  
And value not your Slave a pin.  
And think you such a senseless Lubbard,  
Can prise the Treasure of your Cupboard?  
Sure did he understand the Danger,  
He ne'er would trust you with a stranger.  
If neither I can move, nor he,  
We ' are forced by opportunity:  
Nay, greater Fools than he, to bridle  
Our Gear, and such a time be idle!  
You lie alone, and so do I;  
Let's make one Bed, and so comply.  
If you should on nice scruples reckon,  
I'll find a way to save your Bacon.  
No precedent so like your Mothers,  
That old Thief Theseus, and your Brothers.  
Theseus stole you, and they stole maly:  
I'll be the fourth upon the Tally.  
I have a Boat well manned and oared,  
Able to take us both aboard.  
Fear not a clamour will ensue  
I've Asses, Men, and Clubs enough;  
And I can (should the Fool be rough)  
Deal with your Husband well enough.  
When but a Boy, I did so warble  
A Jackanapes that stole my Marble.  
Deiphob, and Ilium in my wrath,  
With my own fist I cuffed 'em both;  
Besides all this, I have a Hector,  
Will read his Coxcomb such a Lecture,  
That I am sure no force can harm me  
Nor you; he is himself an Army.  
Nay wench, you don't yet know me fully,  
Who am predestined for your Bully.  
Either from Greece no War shall follow,  
Or if it does, thy Foes I'll swallow.  
Nor think I'd basely lose my Forage,  
That prize would give the Coward Courage:  
Our Fire and Flame shall be enrolled,  
When you and I Pox all the World.  
To Bed to Bed; and for the thing,  
You'll find as good as you shall bring.   

HELEN to PARISH.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Helen having received the foregoing Epistle from Paris, returns the following Answer. Wherein she seems at first to chide him for his presumption in writing, as he had done, which could only proceed from his low opinion of her virtue. Then owns herself to be sensible of the Passion which he had expressed for her, tho' she much suspect his Constancy, and at last discovers her inclinations to be favourable to him. The whole Letter showing the Extreme Artifice of Womankind.  
WHen Courtship grows impertinent,  
you fancy Silence gives consent.  
With such Designs how dare a stranger  
Hope in our Park to be a Ranger?  
When you came hither helter skelter,  
Was it for this we gave you shelter?  
You studied to reward us finely  
In troth we used you but too kindly;  
Your partial will, since you came Starbor us,  
May fancy I'm unchaste and barbarous;  
But I defy 'em for my Tail  
That e'er could say black is my nail.  
No Coxcomb yet has had the Knack on't,  
Nor shall I give 'em cause to crack on't.  
How could you have the Impudence  
To hope a Queen should be your Wench?  
Because a Roister once, forsooth,  
Thought me a Dish for his own Tooth,  
Do ' ye think I'm meat for such a whoreson?  
Marry come up, my Dirty Cousin;  
Like him a Princess to bestride,  
Is't nothing else but up and ride?  
But that was only for a Spurt  
And I was more afraid than hurt.  
He was a kind good natured Devil,  
I doubt you'd hardly be so civil.  
And do you think I scap't his force  
For to become your stalking horse?  
Nor was't for want of good will neither  
That I could keep my Legs together.  
For I could do with all my heart  
With one that could perform his part.  
But that I fear thou 'rt such a sloven,  
When thou art in to fire the Oven;  
And leave me glowing in that pickle,  
You Trojan Fops are all so fickle.  
Yet others Do the very Best on 'em,  
Why should not I as well as th' rest on 'em?  
Leda was ravished by a Swan,  
And why should Helen fear a Man?  
But she had jove whereof to glory,  
And what have I? a Trojan Tory?  
For all your boasting and your cracking  
Of Phrygian Blood, you may be packing.  
Your Letter stuffed with all the shams  
That canting Gossips call flim flams,  
Could she but with your boasting buckle,  
Would make a very Queen to truckle.  
But if I either whore or pilf,  
For any thing, it is yourself.  
I'm none of those ill-natured Bitch's,  
Sweeten a Coxcomb for his Riches.  
But if I follow your Worship's Highness,  
It shall be mere stark Love and Kindness.  
Not that thy presents are a Clog,  
For, Love myself, and love my Dog.  
But that for me so kind thou'st been  
To dabble here through thick and thin.  
I have observed (tho' I can too  
Dissemble it as well as you)  
How you'd turn up your goggle Eyes,  
And play a thousand amorous toys;  
Take after me the Pot and Basin,  
Nor would you slip the least occasion.  
For thy fond tricks I bore the blame on 'em  
And many a time I blushed for shame on 'em.  
I found thee willing by thy wooing,  
To do, what not? to be a doing.  
Quoth I, I fancy this Fop-Doodle  
Would fain be dabbling in my puddle.  
Come Nelly, come, you'll serve the turn,  
To cool my Pipes, I burn, I burn:  
While I that kept thee from my placket,  
Myself was madder to be at it.  
But oh! Thy face was so bewitching  
I could not choose but have an itching;  
And though it were in Hall or Kitchen  
Full dear I longed to be a Bitching—  
Of some young Rump I wish thy Maw full,  
That thou may'st pray on Food that's lawful.  
Tho' I am young enough, and pert too,  
You must not think to tempt a Virtue.  
You ask what's sought by all Mankind,  
As you have Eyes, they are not blind:  
Circumfering Eyes make me their Centre,  
But you upon the Spot dare venture.  
Had you been here before the Roister,  
You'd had the opening of the Oyster.  
But now too late, I've one to do't,  
And you may kiss the Rabits foot;  
You should have fared before this Sot,  
Yet I'm contented with my Lot.  
Cease then to force a Woman's shiness,  
And do not wish me so much kindness.  
You think, forsooth, it is my Duty,  
Since the three Misses strove for Beauty:  
One offered keys, another Locks,  
And Venus, promised with a Pox,  
For a Reward the rest beguiling,  
You should of me have the defiling.  
But thus to gratify your pains  
Can never beat into my Brains,  
That such nice Dames should for a Ball  
Uncase their scutts, and show you all,  
Then send to me to scour your Rammer;  
Don't think me such an Innyhammer.  
But grant it were, it is not such  
A Booty, though you got a touch:  
I should be prouder of my Looks  
To be in yours and Venus' Books.  
juno and Pallas gave a Fee,  
And you refused 'em all for me.  
Am I then such a Dainty Bit?  
What heart of Rock but must submit?  
whate'er you hear the Rabble say,  
Dissemble still, yet mind your prey,  
But to forbear's the better way;  
Yet if you will be bold, you may.  
But pray be private as you can,  
For fear it come to my good man.  
He's gone to see my Nuncle, speed 'em,  
And kindly left us to our freedom.  
His Journey's long, and longer may  
With all my entrails be his stay.  
I can't but tickle at his sense  
To leave it to my negligence;  
When he to me did recommend  
All things, but most his Trojan Friend;  
I split my sides, and only said  
My Dear, well you shall be Obeyed.  
Fair Winds have blown him to a Far land:  
What pains he takes to wear the Garland?  
He's gone, yet still I have some fears,  
You know small Pitchers have long Ears.  
You bid me use my Time and Tool  
Left me by the good easy Fool.  
I would— and yet I doubt— pox split it,  
'Twixt hope and fear I have be should— it.  
We're both hot set; my Husband's gone;  
I can't endure to lie alone.  
One Room, and nothing but a Wattle  
Divides between us and the cattle.  
Hang me but every thing's so lucky,  
As if the Do did cry, come Buck me.  
You banter when you should be pressing,  
By force to ravish such a Blessing.  
Our Sex still ready to receive,  
And can take more than you can give.  
I'd fain be Doing— yet 'twere best ' e'en  
Give over, and leave off our jesting.  
'Tis bad to trust our Gear with Strangers,  
Whose Passions like themselves are Rangers.  
And how dare I trust you my goods,  
Who left Oenone in the suds?  
Were you in Earnest, yet you stay  
But for a Cast, and then away,  
And sculk from Table to your Scull,  
Before I've half my Belly full.  
But 'cause I'm expert at the sport,  
You'll keep m'a Miss in Priam's Court;  
Then of my Fame you'll blow the Trumpet,  
And tell the World I am your Strumpet.  
In Troy what credit shall I find,  
And leave in Greece such shame behind?  
When all the Town begins to stink on't,  
What will the modest Ladies think on't?  
You'll doubt as I left one for you,  
I'll serve yourself the same sauce too.  
You'll be the first, yourself will bang me,  
I'd rather far your Grace would hang me.  
You promise heaps of Trojan Mountains,  
But I more prise my Native Fountains.  
If any of your Hectors kick me  
Ith' Dirt, who have I there to lick me?  
Medea was by jason nubbled,  
At such a rate I may be bubbled.  
Poor silly Devils like myself,  
Do often split upon that shelf.  
Your teeming Dam brought forth a Link,  
Which fired Troy, and made 'em stink:  
Besides, some old prophetic Maggots,  
That Troy should smoke with Grecian Faggots.  
I fear 'em both; nor is there trusting  
To Venus in our Aid to thrust in.  
They'll be revenged: the roaring Lion,  
Robbed of his prey, with Death will fly on▪  
So great a wrong his Rage would rouse,  
And all my Friends his Cause espouse.  
You boast of Courage, but alas,  
There's little sign on't in your Face,  
To turn it on thy swift pursuers:  
Great Talkers are the meanest Doers.  
Let Soldiers tend their Trump and Rattle,  
thou'rt timbered for a safer Battle.  
And Hector mind his Siege and Sallies,  
That's good for nothing but the Gallows.  
Yet why should Fears my heart amuse,  
Had I as much wit as a Goose?  
I'm modest, yet upon the sent,  
In time I may grow impudent.  
You haunt my Burrow late and early,  
And only do desire a parley▪  
This is the Substance of your chat,  
But I can guests what you'd be at.  
In time, upon it you may chop,  
And after Seeds may bring a Crop.  
This is enough, without more shiness,  
To let you understand my kindness.  
My Woman's trusty proof, and let her,  
Who knows the Jig, inform thee Better.   

PENELOPE to ULYSSES.  
The ARGUMENT.  
The Rape of Helen, having carried all the Grecian Princes to the Siege of Troy. Ulysses, among the rest there signallized his manhood and prudence particularly. But the Siege at an end, and he not returning with the other Captains, Penelope sends this Letter in Quest of him. She had rendered herself as deservedly famous on her part, by resisting all the while the importunity of her Suitors, with an unusual Constancy and Fidelity. She complains to Ulysses of their Carriage, she likewise tells him her apprehensions and fears for him during the War, and since acquaints him with the ill posture of his Family through his absence, and desires him to hasten home, as the only means to set all right again.  
TO thy own Pen at length break home;  
Send not, but with a vengeance come.  
Troy does not keep you now to guzle,  
Not twenty Troy's are worth that buzle.  
I wish a Russian, some stout Seaman,  
Had drowned him, bound to Lacedaemon.  
I should not then have half the grumble  
Of tedious days, and midnight tumblings.  
Nor half the pains and Labour take,  
And work and wove till fingers ache.  
I feared thy Coxcomb they did cuddle,  
Which made my Spouts drop many a puddle.  
The Trojans, were your Camp surrounding  
At Hector's name, I fell a swooning.  
When Nestor's Brat by Hector mastered,  
My Ars made Buttons for the Bastard.  
And how Patroclus paid for's shame,  
I could not choose but curse and dam.  
Tlepolem got a prick i'th' Breech,  
And I could not forbear to scratch.  
Whatever Greeks fell in the fray,  
I strait fell down as dead as they.  
Yet 'tis some comfort in the showering,  
That thou should live to scape a scouring.  
Troy's burnt, amongst the blundering Sots  
My Husband's roaring o'er his Pots.  
The Bonfire's blaze, the Rockets thunder,  
And all our Cabbin's crammed with Plunder.  
The Women rive their Husband's wallets,  
And sing Troy's Downfall in new Ballads.  
For very Joy we're grown so lavish,  
The Wives their very Husbands ravish.  
Some spill their Cups, and draw the Fable  
Of all the Siege upon the Table.  
This Simois, that the Sigan Hall was,  
And this was Priam's lofty Palace.  
Here skulks Ulysses, there Achilles,  
Here Hector, torn with Mares and Fillies,  
This I was All informed by Nestor,  
And how you gave the Foe a Glister.  
Dolen nor Rhese your Sword escaping,  
Bantered the one, took th'other napping▪  
Amongst the Tents thou art fool hardy,  
But to remember us too tardy.  
Wast thou not raving Mad to fall  
O'th' Camp thyself, and kill 'em all?  
I thought thou had more grace or wit,  
To take 'em when they were at sh—  
And not to run such desperate Courses,  
To rob their Crates, and steal their Horses.  
You Troy have razed out of the Margin  
What good have I got by the Bargain?  
To your poor Pen it's all as one,  
To Dildo damned to do alone,  
For notwithstanding all your swagger,  
To me all's standing but your Dagger.  
Now Nettles grow in Priam's stair case,  
Manured with Dung of Trojan carcase:  
Nor Court nor cabin, mud, nor stones,  
Nor Trojan left, but sculls and Bones.  
What mischief can detain thee now?  
Am I not worthy then to know?  
When all your Friends are homewards thronging,  
To hang an Ars, and spoil my Longing.  
There's not a Sculler makes a shore,  
But I inquire thee o'er and o'er.  
I call for Liquor to be nibbling,  
And o'er the Pot I fall a scribbling.  
To Pylos than I sent pellmell,  
But could not have one Syllable.  
To Sparta too who can't devise in?  
What Course thou tak'st to practice in?  
Would I were certain of thy Landing,  
Or that those Cabins yet were standing;  
Then might we, (had you kept your Meres,)  
Know where abouts you're with your Bears.  
But to be no where on the spot,  
I fear, I fear,— I know not what.  
And do suppect at this wide Distance,  
thou'rt got amongst the wild Philistines;  
Or that you have forsaken your Shallop  
To fall aboard some other Trallop.  
And tells her what a dowdy Malkin  
I am, that thus deserves your Bawking.  
Plague on this Jealous humour, rot it,  
I'll never break my Brains about it.  
Vanish vain thoughts, and shake your Crumbs,  
He'll be with me when e'er he comes.  
My Father would have had me truckled  
To an old Fop, and made thee Cuckold.  
He led me such a weary Life,  
But let 'em rail, I am still thy Wife.  
I would not yet, thy own dear Penny  
Give my Ulysseses for a Guennie.  
Thy Loving Pen will make 'em flee for't,  
And be thy wife, or else I'll die for't.  
From Crete, from Samos, Rhodes and Zants,  
Drunk every day with Ale and Nants,  
Such Troops of Raggamuffin's come,  
As eat thee out of house and home.  
Medon, and Polyb, and Pesander,  
And grey Eurimachus the Gander,  
With thousands more defile your Towels,  
And feast upon our very Bowels,  
Melanch, and Irus the Bulbeggar,  
Riffle, and rummage up your Leaguer.  
In mine and their own Dung they wallow,  
And of my Breech the Savour follow.  
You're even but well enough rewarded,  
Your house is like to be well guarded.  
A feeble Graybeard always tippling,  
A helpless Wife and a young stripling;  
Whom late we were like to lose the Spaniel  
Half drowned, as he but crossed the Kennel.  
But God forbid till't be his Cours  
To lay my head as well as yours:  
And may the Youth still live and thrive,  
While he sees any one alive.  
The Nurse, the Hogheard, and the Hind  
To wish the same are all so kind,  
With old Laertes my Protectors.  
But what are they amongst the Hectors?  
To trust Telemach, I had rather,  
But he's an Urchin like the Father.  
ay, what am I?— alas I'm not able  
To deal with such a Ribble-Rabble.  
Come soon, or else the Devil burst you,  
For you are all we have to trust to.  
So may your Son grow up a Scholar,  
And old Laertes cease his Choler.  
I blooming, when you gave the Bag,  
Am now become a withered Hag.   

HYPSIPYLE to JASON.  
The ARGUMENT.  
The Desire of gaining the Golden Fleece put Jason upon a Voyage to Cholcos'. In his Passage he stopped at the Island Lemnos; of which place Hypsipyle was then Queen, famed for her pious saving of her Father Thoas, in a general Massacre of the men there by the Women of that Country. Her Entertainment of Jason so kind as induced him to stay there two years, at the end of which he left the Island, and the Queen (than big with Child) and after a thousand vows of Constancy and a speedy Return, pursues his first intended Voyage, and arrives at Cholcos', where Aeta was king. Medea his Daughter falls deeply in Love with Jason, and by her Charms be gained the Golden Fleece, with which and Medea he secretly sailed home to Thessaly. Hypsipyle hearing of his Landing with her more happy Rival Medea, writes him this Epistle.  
LAden they say with a stolen Cargo,  
In Thessaly lies pilfering Argo.  
I'd send thee welcome, did I know,  
From thy own Mouth that it were so.  
To break the Banes you did not stickle  
Against the Wind, then thou less Fickle.  
If you don't think me worth your Labour,  
You might have sent a Peice of Paper.  
Why should the Rabble crack our Sculls,  
Before thyself with Tales of Bulls?  
Clods fought with Clods, sprung up and slew  
Each other without help of you.  
Poor Thief, what have you else to brag on,  
But of his Fleece you robbed the Dragon?  
Would I could say when Folks deny it,  
Here he's himself to justify it.  
Yet I could cease my jealous grunting,  
Could I but say you are my Bunting.  
But ah! that hope is vain! a Witch  
Has got my Bunting by the Breech.—  
Would I could say, (but fears bedung me)  
Would I could say, my Dear I wrong thee.  
Here came a Stroler starved with Hugher,  
I asked him for my Muttonmonger;  
Lives he?— or is he dead or living?  
Or with what Jilt is he a wiving?  
He lives, said he; I made him swear it,  
He swore by Styx, yet still I fear it.  
He bid me leave my idle talking,  
That you the Bulls were just now yoking;  
The Serpent spawned a Crop of Heroes,  
In native Buff, and Bandilieroes;  
And by their own intestine Fury,  
Off-hand did one another worry.  
I asked again, Lives he, or no?  
Or prithee tell me so or so;  
He slily kept me in the dark yet,  
And makes the best of a bad Market.  
Yet cannot he for all his Blanks  
But show the Baseness of thy Pranks.  
Oh! Where are all your Lies and Flattering▪  
So often set my Mouth a watering?  
What wind to Lemnos blew you hither?  
Or why should I admit you either?  
Here's neither Sheep, nor Fleece of Gold,  
Nor is my Lemnos a Pinfold.  
At first I did design to trap thee,  
And set the Women on to clap thee;  
The Lemnian Girls are buxom Wenches,  
And would have carbonaed thy Haunches.  
For two full years, ere thou wast budging,  
Under my Roof I gave thee Lodging:  
Then sneak away to play the Thief,  
Pretending you were full of Grief.  
Don't fret thyself, my Heart and Liver  
I'll come again, if I come ever—  
Then bubbles at the Snout, and maunders,  
As if your Nose had got the Glanders.  
Then to the Harbour with a strong Gale,  
You cleared the Ground tag rag, and long tail.  
Of all the Crew you made a Din most,  
And cried the Devil take the hindmost.  
Up to the Garret I was fled,  
And cried my Eyes out of my Head;  
Gazing as far as I could see,  
Till I lost them as well as thee.  
Full oft I wished thee here a mumping,  
But thou reward'st me with a thumping.  
It made me mad, to think a Hag,  
Should give thee such a Running Nag;  
Shall I clean Dishes, deck the Kitchen,  
For one that loves to be a bitching?  
I always feared your Dads Contrival  
That I should have a Grecian Rival.  
But she's no Greek, ah! can you rump it,  
With such a lewd Barbarian Strumpet?  
Who with her spells can only flout ye,  
Nor can she slave you with her Beauty.  
She'll stop the Moon by Magic, enfold  
The Sun, and clap them in a pinfold;  
She curbs the Waves, and stops the Fountains,  
And from their Seat moves Woods and Mountains.  
She'll scorch your very Bones within,  
And make 'em rattle in your Skin;  
She'll gore a Fly, a Bat, or Beetle,  
At ten miles' distance with her Needle:  
And in a Print of molten Butter,  
Give them the Running, Gripes, and Squitter  
'Tis Form and Beauty moves the Tilters,  
But she secures you with her Philters.  
How can you dote on such a Witch,  
And hug a Siren like a Bitch?  
You as the Bulls she yoked i'th' Wagon,  
And tames you as she did the Dragon.  
For all your Pride linked to this Quean,  
You'll lose your Credit quite and clean.  
Nay by the censuring World 'tis babbled,  
That by her spells you are enabled,  
And the stolen Fleece of corled Silver  
Medea did not jason pilfer.  
It was not he that stole the Ram,  
The Devil jason, but his Dam.  
A Northern Lass! a precious Beauty!  
To Love and Parents show more Duty.  
Let some wild Ruffian thither gallop,  
A fitter Match for such a Trallop.  
jason more fickle than the Wether,  
Can Vows nor Oaths bring us together?  
You parted mine, return so too,  
Le's Do't, and make no more ado.  
If Beauty, Birth or parts can move,  
Or Breeding to oblige thy Love,  
Know I am Thoas only Heiress,  
The very best in all the Parish.  
Oth' right side got my Mother and Sire,  
And Drunken Bacchus was my Grandsire.  
These, and my Lemnos make a Dowry  
Enough for any filching Tory.  
I Mother am, be thou a Father,  
And of the Gravil ease my Blather.  
Your Brace of Twins, those chattering Rooks  
Saving your Gild, retain your Looks,  
In all things else so like your Snout  
As if yourself had spit 'em out.  
Those I had sent instead o'th' Letter,  
To plead their Cause, and mine the better.  
Did I not fear Medea's Malice  
Would send them straightway to the Gallows;  
Would she that made a mortal hash  
Of her own Brothers, spare my flesh?  
Yet in your Arms this forceress Lies,  
And you conceit you have a Prize:  
False Fool I blame, but do not wonder  
What made the Lemnos Wenches thunder.  
Suppose the Fates had used their Engines  
To blow the hither with a Vengeance:  
What Impudence could thou assume  
To see thy Brats and me at home?  
Thus to betray thy flesh and blood?  
Hang thee, nay hanging is too good.  
Tho' I perhaps had spared thy Jacket,  
I should have rived the Witches Placket.  
To her I should Medea prove.  
If jove regards my injured Love  
May that loathed Hag my Bed defiled  
Be by her own Designs beguiled.  
And may she be for all your Fleeces,  
By Dogs for Carrion torn apieces.  
May her old Sire, and Brother's Murder,  
Be her own Doom, so God reward her▪  
And may she split upon that Shelf,  
Till in Dispair she hangs herself.   

PHAEDRA to HYPOLYTUS.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Theseus the Son of Aegeus having slain the Minotaur, promised to Ariadne, the Daughter of Minos and Pasiphae, for the Assistance of which she gave him to carry her home with him, and make her his Wife. So together with her sick Phoedra they went on board, and sailed to Chios, where being warned by Bacchus he left Ariadne, and married her Sister Phoedra, who afterwards in Theseus her Husband's Absence, fell in Love weth Hypolytus her Son in Law, who had vowed Celibacy, and was a Hunter▪ wherefore since she could conveniently otherwise; she chose by this Epistle to give him an Account of her Passion.  
IF thou 'rt unkind my pretty Elf,  
I shall go near to hang myself.  
Read this I pray, and then consider  
What Gripe I have in my Blather.  
Thus we by Notes confer with ease  
Which serve us in our Privacies.  
Thrice my sad Tale, ere I a word  
Could utter fell into a T—  
I shamed to say I was besh—  
But what I blushed to speak, I writ.  
'Tis dangerous to resist such Motions,  
The Gods themselves do take their Potions:  
They promised me to send thee hither,  
That we might take a Dose together;  
And with a Pill or a Compound,  
To purge thee of the weather-bound;  
Yet when I first was married, than he  
Found me as neat as any penny.  
But a Fice smothered in the Skin,  
When it's not out, stinks worse within.  
As a young Puppy learned to fetch,  
Is pinched and lashed, and stroked and scratched:  
So you resolve ere I be idle,  
To make me bite upon the Bridle,  
When Love was young the Whore bepissed her,  
In riperyears she took a Glister.  
To thee I mortgage Tickleman and Feather,  
Le's be undone▪ and bed together.  
How can you spare the Fruit that grows,  
And still lies bobbing at your Nose?  
But now my Beauty had no match,  
Shall I begin to paint and patch?  
I for thy love no hazard fear,  
It is no Sin unless you swear.  
Should juno give her (what d'ye call it)  
I'd quit her jove for my Hypolit.  
With thee I've wished these many years,  
To have a frisk amongst the Bears.  
To dabble in the Bogs and Fountains,  
And drive the Beagles o'er the Mountains.  
To get a Green-gown while I lie  
O'th' Grass? Would you stand pimping by?  
I have a little hand Wheel-barrow,  
And thick and thin I venture thorough.  
Drunk in my Cups I stamp and stare,  
Raging, and mad as a March Hare,  
And make myself a very stalk-horse  
Amongst the Bulkers and Nightwalkers.  
And whilst you are amongst your Wenches,  
I find myself where the shoe pinches.  
Is it a Fate i'th' Blood that Venus  
With Infamy resolves to slain us?  
It is a blessed Generation  
When Whore and Rogue's all the Relation.  
Europa longed for a mad Bull,  
And had of him her Belly full:  
And to her shame I had a mother  
Even as good at it as the other.  
The Filer Theseus, by my Sister,  
The Monster slew, for which he kissed her.  
The selfsame Course myself am steering,  
There's ne'er a Barrel better Herring.  
It was unlucky for us Both,  
She loved the Father, I the youth:  
Say then two Sisters are undone,  
Both by the Father and the Son.  
When first we met at Country Farm,  
Would I had broke a Leg or Arm.  
Eleusis was the Fatal place,  
I would I ne'er had seen that Face;  
That Face so fair for all to see,  
Was an unlucky one to me.  
Thy Drawers, Charcole-Wife, and Waistcoat,  
Became thee better than a laced Coat,  
At pleasure to slip on and doff,  
As home, and plain as a Pikestaff.  
I love it best, I will not flatter,  
Because it most resembles Nature.  
If thou but sneeze or let a Fart,  
I smile, and say 'tis done with Art;  
Or see thee poise thy little Tool,  
Even any thing does please the Fool.  
But in the Woods pursue thy freaks,  
And meddle not with such a Jaques.  
Must Country Trulls have all the sport,  
And starve the Ladies of the Court?  
For Heaven's sake Lad forbear high Toss,  
Or thou'lt come home by weeping Cross.  
Famous was Shafalus the Kildog  
For slaying many a Cur, and Mill-dog.  
Yet him Eurora did bewitch,  
Who left his old for a young Bitch.  
Under a shade her amorous Boy,  
Venus did often occupy.  
Atlanta's lay with Meleager,  
And did together for a wager.  
Between two Pools there is a Kennel  
Adorned with Beds of Leeks and Fennel.  
Thither to th' Bawdy Bank I'll come,  
One Bit abroad's worth two at home.  
we'll tumble on a Bed of Parsley,  
T' our wish the Thief is gone to Thessaly:  
There taken up with Cinder sooty,  
Then thou or I a better Booty.  
And there to show his further Malice  
Against us Both, he huffs and rallies:  
He gave my Brother's Bum a Glister,  
And played the Rascal with my Sister.  
With Ducks and Geese to find his Foxmeat,  
And left her in the Woods for Hawks meat,  
Amongst the Beasts where thou wast fostered,  
To rob thy Right, and make thee he Bastard:  
And tho' I brought him more by others,  
They're all his own, thy very Brothers.  
Then do not stand on Terms of Duty,  
Who left thee here to me a Booty.  
He did it first, art thou afraid  
Then to defile thy Father's Bed?  
It neither frightens me, nor shames,  
Mother and Son are but mere Names  
Of Fear and Duty to amaze  
The Folks in old Queen Bess' days.  
But honest jove full often kissed her,  
And made no Bones of his own Sister.  
Nor matters it so near a Kin,  
The nearer that the deeper in:  
And all will praise us, when a Mother,  
And Son's so kind to one another.  
Nor would we keep it in the dark yet,  
we'll hug, and kiss i'th' open Market;  
For were we catched in naked Bed,  
My Legs and Arms about thee spread,  
It is but Mother and the Son,  
And who can guests what we have done?  
Only make haste my pretty Duck,  
For I even long to give thee Suck.  
Between my Breasts to get thee once,  
I'll fall upon my Marrowbones,  
And kiss the Borders of thy Jerkin,  
To please thee I will show my Merkin.  
Nor can the Fur my Youth affright,  
In Love it is a decent sight:  
For when with Action we grow bolder,  
Shame flies the Field like beaten Soldier.  
Forgive, I pray, this fond Confession,  
And pity, pity my Transgression.  
What tho' my Father keep a blunder,  
And my old Grandsire huff and thunder,  
Tho' with the richness of the Glass  
The Cuckold had a ruby Face.  
To love their Honour's but a Slave,  
If thou'lt not me their Credit save.  
All Crete I'll bring thee for a Dower,  
Thou shalt have all things in my power.  
For Venus' sake then taste my Haggis,  
And never mind a scornful Baggidge.  
So may Diana raise thy Flame,  
And every spot afford thee Game.  
So may the little Country Cracks,  
Fall all before thee on their Backs,  
And all the Milkmaids Piggins burst  
In heat of Love to quench thy Thirst.  
Millions of Tears I join with Cries,  
Which as thou readest with those dear Eyes,  
Think that thou seest the Floods that rise  
To wish thee here between my Thighs.   

DIDO to AENEAS.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Aeneas the Son of Venus and Anchises, having at the Destruction of Troy, saved his Gods, his Father, and Son Ascanius from the Fire, put to Sea with twenty Sail of Ships, and having been long tossed with Tempests, was at last cast upon the Shoar at Lybia, where Queen Dido (flying from the Cruelty of Pygmalion her Brother, who had killed her Husband Sicheas) had lately built Carthage. She entertained Aeneas and his Fleet with great Civility, fell passionately in Love with him, and in the end denied him not the last Favours. But Mercury admonishing Aeneas to go in Search of Italy (a Kingdom promised to him by the Gods) be readily prepared to obey him. Dido soon perceived it, and having in vain tried all other means to engage him to stay, at last in despair writes to him as follows.  
SO in the Fallows of Menander,  
The mournful Goose gaggles for Gander.  
Not that I doubt a greater Mischance,  
Or hope t' enjoy thee at this distance.  
But having lost my better half,  
Why should I fear to cast my Calf?  
'Tis then decreed poor Dido's left  
Of thee, and all thou hast bereft.  
While thou designs amongst such Trumpery,  
Had rather have thy Room than Company.  
Nor can my kindness yet restrain you,  
You seek a Whore that would refrain you.  
You eat your old Friend for a new one,  
See what you get by playing Truant.  
Suppose unto your wish you landed,  
Then like a Coxcomb be disbanded;  
What Cully is so void of Sense  
To hope to find an honest Wench?  
Yet you refuse your old Cunabling,  
And in new holes love to be dabbling.  
When will your Trulls such pleasure show  
As mine, above, or yet below?  
If twenty such you chance to see,  
You'll never find the like of me.  
For oh! I burn alive, Pox rot 'em,  
With those same things, as I had got 'em.  
Aeneas is my daily Theme,  
And all the night of him I dream.  
Yet he (ungrateful) is abscond,  
Fool that I was to be so fond.  
Myself alone can nothing do,  
Which makes me oftener wish for you.  
Oh! Cupid, pity me, and make  
Thy Brother kinder for my sake.  
I'm raging mad to think that Venus  
With such a Scoundrel should bestein us;  
Such an unlucky Harlot's Bird,  
Thou Venus Son? thou Venus T— d,  
Sprung from the Droppings of a Dishclout,  
Or from the Scumming of a Pisspot.  
Drawn in a flood from her Inferiors,  
She blew thee out of her Posteriors;  
Which made a Bouncing and a Rottle,  
Like windy Ale in strait-mouthed Bottle;  
A noise like that makes neighbouring Nation  
Take snuff in Nose, and fall in Passion.  
That raised the Billows with a Powder,  
A Hurricane could not be louder.  
Yet rather than thou should be packing,  
I would dispense with all thy cracking.  
Thou dost deserve to hang, thy swingers  
And thee, but I'll not ' file my Fingers.  
By shunning me you fall in Chinks,  
The more you stir, the worse it stinks.  
Stay but a little, till the Tide  
Be turned, and I am satisfied.  
Stay only while your blood does Flow,  
And when it's out, then freely go.  
knowst thou not yet that the many dangers  
In unknown Pools do happen Strangers?  
The Fireships flaming in the Centre,  
How are you then so bold to venture?  
Which, were it safe from Node or Shanker,  
A thousand Mischiefs in it Anchor▪  
In that Abyss the Fates have Engines  
For to revenge you with a Vengeance.  
There all your Main Chance often Nicks,  
To pay at last for all your tricks.  
Thus I thy safety do propound,  
And clapped myself to keep thee sound;  
False as thou art, I'd not contrive  
Thy Death, to have thee rot alive.  
I rather (as thou dost design)  
Thou lived to be the cause of mine.  
Should thou be Poxed by any Woman.  
(But Heaven I pray forbid the Omen.)  
While for Revenge my Fury cries out,  
My very Ghost would pull thy Eyes out.  
Foaming at mouth, think how I roar,  
And bait thee like a Butter-whore.  
Should Pains and Ulcers then like Thunder  
Seize thee, and tear thy Soul asunder,  
What couldst thou say in thy defence  
But 'tis what I deserved long since?  
Lest this should happen, be no Ranger,  
But stay at home to shun the danger.  
Think of thy Brats, if not thy Grandsire,  
For me thou'lt have enough to Answer.  
What have they done, that thou'lt be ganging?  
Was't to be drowned they scaped a hanging?  
But thou preserved not Son nor Father,  
But Wind to fill an Empty Blather.  
Thy Tales of Troy were all Romances,  
Nor I first gulled amongst thy Wenches.  
Did you not leave among the Bogs,  
Your own Creusa to the Dogs?  
This Cruelty my heart did fire,  
That thou should deal so basely by her,  
Nor do I doubt for such abuses,  
(Tho' you pretend a thousand excuses)  
The Fates conspired with Sea and Wind  
To plague, and serve thee in thy kind.  
Thy tattered Crew, those lean Rascallions,  
Those lousy starved Taterdemallions,  
Like drowned Rats cast ashore, I fed,  
And made thee free of Board and Bed,  
To succour them at such a season,  
Was kind, the rest was out of reason.  
Cursed be the Shower that did Pelter,  
When to the Ditch we went for shelter,  
The Dairy wenches and the Milkmaids,  
That little knew thy knack to bilk Maids,  
When they began to tune their Pallets  
I thought had sung our Wedding Ballets.  
But now I find the Fury's barked,  
The lamentation of bad Market.  
Oh Honesty! where art thou Banished?  
Exact thy due from him that's Vanished;  
By Death redeem my Reputation,  
And let my Ghost blow up the Nation.  
Close by my Thighs, a gloomy thicket  
Lies languishing for thee, my Pricket.  
There reathed with flowers longs to be at you,  
Although it were but with your Statue.  
Last night methought he scratched my Bum,  
And twice he cried, my Dido, come.  
She comes indeed, and hears thy Summons,  
But cannot brook your single Commons.  
Forgive the wrongs thy Bed I offered,  
Thou asked no sooner than 'twas proffered.  
Thy Mother Bawd, and Sire who is Chief  
Of all the Pimps, did all the Mischief.  
He came of such a Noble Race,  
I wish I had him by the Face.  
But ill luck got me by the Scut,  
And as it opened let it shut.  
My fool, my Brother slew at th' Altar,  
He took his Goods, and left a Halter.  
Friendless and Pennyless, with Rumping  
I cleared the ground, and went a mumping  
To Foreign Countries, where my Brother  
Could not discern me from another.  
And here a Stroler from the Tenants,  
I bought this spot to do my Penance,  
With all the Garden-Plats and Ditches,  
To entertain thee and thy Bitch's.  
And raised these Walls by Theft and Plunder,  
To all my Neighbours Fear and Wonder:  
But most their Fear, for much they dread  
The Roof will fall upon their head.  
And now they arm with Spade and Shovel,  
With Topsy-turvey to unruffle.  
I must have a man to find me Mortar,  
A Woman's but a weak supporter;  
And yet a thousand Gulls a Drinking,  
Would for my sake keep all from sinking;  
Who tho' they offer Sheep and Mutton  
To thee, I value not a Button.  
To Proud Hyarbas let me Sail,  
(For this must be if we sell Ale)  
Or to my Husband's Murderer leave me,  
What Eye sees not, Heart cannot grieve me.  
Go then fond Rustic, trace the Mildews,  
But leave behind your Tools and Dildo's.  
Touch not that Spot, who art not such,  
Thou with a pair of Tongues should touch.  
Thy bawdy Fist it more disdains  
That e'er it caught me by the Reins▪  
Perhaps my greatest shames to come,  
Since thou lay pelting at my Bum.  
My Souderkin and I (God wot)  
Must both together go to Pot;  
And tho' unborn, with guiltless Mother,  
Resolve to die with one another.  
Some God thou sayest sent thee aground,  
Would I're as sure of twenty Pound,  
Or the same God, beshrew his Garters,  
Had found thee out some other Quarters.  
But whether 'twas a God or Devil,  
No thanks to them, you found me Civil.  
Nor do I doubt but he the Calf  
That put thee on, will bring thee off.  
You're bound to Tiber for new Plunders,  
And there you hope to purchase Wonders.  
But when thou 'rt there thou ' lt be at best,  
I fear me, but a sorry Guest.  
Yet it may live to bauk thy Fleet,  
When thou hast ne'er a Nose to see't.  
A Crown in ready is my Dower,  
Here thou art safe a Conqueror,  
Here thou may fix thy Troy and Histories,  
And young Ascanius get a Mistress,  
And while we sleep in a whole skin,  
Bring Grist to Mill, and make no din.  
By Cupid's Arrows I adjure thee,  
And all the Gods that forward spur thee,  
As thou dost pity one unhappy,  
That has no Crime, but that she clapped thee;  
Come home with all the speed you can,  
What is a Miss without a man?  
I am not spawned from fierce Achilles,  
Nor did my Parents owe thee Malice.  
To be thy Wife if 'tis Offence,  
I'm satisfied to be thy Wench.  
To have thee here upon the spot,  
What would I be? What would I not?  
Our Lybian Coasts do know our Seasons,  
When you may best ship off your Peasants.  
Refer it to my Care and Leisure,  
When you are safe then use your Pleasure.  
Your weary Slaves would be content;  
Their Shirts are torn, and Masts are spent.  
If by the Nose I cannot lead thee,  
What Merit can't, let Love persuade thee,  
Stay till I learn a while to juggle,  
And give me time with Grief to struggle.  
If not, know this— I'll ne'er endure  
A Malady admits no cure.  
My Life's too weak, the Devil too strong on't,  
I'll hang myself, there's short and long on't.  
Death holds my pen, and stops my Eyes,  
While cross my Lap the Halter lies.  
I scow'r for very Fear with thinking  
My windpipe short will spoil my drinking.  
My funeral Pomp will cost thee fair  
To paid with three pence worth of Ware.  
Thy Gift! A Rope light on the Tool  
Is even too good for such a Fool.  
To no new wounds I make a buzzle,  
The old Noose Love has stopped my Guzzle.  
And thou dear Nanny make a Shift  
To help me out at a dead Lift,  
And all my Neighbours with a screech  
Be sure to throw me in some Ditch;  
But lay me not my Husband's grave in,  
Because with Horns I did beslave him.  
Write only this short Epitaph.  
Here Dido lies that loved to quaff,  
Aeneas left me Rope, the Elf,  
And I did fairly hang myself.   

The Foregoing EPISTLE OF DIDO TO AENEAS,  By another Hand. 
SO in the fallows of Menander,  
The mournful Goose gagg'ls for Gander.  
Not that I doubt a greater Mischance,  
Or hope to enjoy thee at this Distance;  
But having lost my better half,  
Why should I fear to cast my Calf?  
And so forward, for it is so like the former Epistle, that one may indifferently serve for both, and I am loath to trouble the Reader with needless Repetition.   

ACONTIUS to CYDIPPE.  
The ARGUMENT.  
Acontius in the Temple of Diana at Delos (famous for the resort of the most Beautiful Virgins of all Greece) fell in Love with Cydippe, a Lady of Quality much above his own; not daring therefore to court her openly, he found this Device to obtain her: He writes upon the fairest Apple that could be procured, a Couple of Verses to this Effect.  
I swear by chaste Diana I will be  
In sacred Wedlock ever joined to thee.  
And throws it at the feet of the young Lady. She suspecting not the Deceit takes it up, and reads it, and therein promises herself in Marriage to Acontius, there being a Law there in force, that whatever any person should swear in the Temple of Diana of Delos, should stand good and be inviolably observed. But her Father not knowing what had passed, and having not long after promised her to another, just as the Solemnities of Marriage were to be performed, she was taken with a sudden and violent Fever, which Acontius, endeavours to persuade her was sent from Diana as a Punishment of the Breach of the Vow made in her Presence. And this with the rest of the Arguments which on such an Occasion would occur to Lovers, is the subject of the following Epistle.  

REad freely this my pretty Dearing,  
And leave your bouncing and your swearing  
Read it I say, for I would fain  
That we should both be out of pain,  
And after all your Mercury  
You should be found to Do with me.  
Why do you blush like any Bear,  
As when you in the porch did swear.  
To speak the Truth you need no drivel,  
For speak the Truth, and shame the Devil.  
But be ashamed to steal, for I  
My pretty Soul mean honestly.  
Oh! think upon those Words were slipping  
And the late Motto of the Pippin,  
When to your Feet it came a tripping  
And you the Apple fell a gripping.  
There you will find the Oaths and Curses,  
Which if we mind our Health or Purses,  
You ought to have so great a Care  
That you perform 'em to a hair.  
Diana heard your Vows alone,  
That Chit will tell you of your own.  
You'd better far to say and hold,  
Than to provoke so rank a Scold.  
My Fears for thee do make me jealous,  
And fierce Defire's blow up the Bellows.  
For hope you gave, you can't deny it,  
The Nymph was by to justify it.  
She was, and heard you every Tittle.  
In lucky Hand she blew a spital.  
Her Statue bowed and played at Noddy,  
And gave Consent to yield your Body.  
Now if your please accuse the Cheat,  
But say 'twas Love that did the Feat.  
For by that Cheat what more was meant,  
But to cheat you by your own Consent?  
What you a Crime, I count a Glory,  
Since Loving you is all the Story.  
Such Crimes with Pride I will pursue,  
If I can have my ends of you.  
Nor am I practised in the slies  
And webs to ' tangle Virgin flies.  
Nature taught me, and you know Nature  
Did not design to cog nor flatter.  
I laid the Bait, you bit the fly,  
And Love a finger had i'th' Pie.  
For Love stood by, and did indite  
The very words that I did write.  
Again I write, Love holds the Taper,  
He guides my Pen, and rules my Paper.  
Again I send you such sweet matter,  
As I'm afraid will make you water.  
But if for this your Slave you damn,  
I'll ne'er be less than what I am.  
Oh! that I thus might still be guilty  
In finding out new ways to tilt thee.  
A thousand Paths lead to that Valley,  
And shall I stand on shall I? shall I?  
I'll break throw all the stops that may be.  
Faint heart did never kiss fair Lady.  
But what of this will be the Close,  
For me, the Lord of Oxford knows.  
Yet if we Mortals have a Mother  
You must be mine one way or other.  
If Art should fail, I'll make a Riot,  
And ravish thee if thou deny it.  
I'll do it in a manner ample  
As e'er the Worthies gave Example.   

I too— But hold— I shall be nubed  
Then be it so—  
For let me be or hanged or grubbed,  
Who would not for a single touch  
Venture to take one gentle Stretches?  
If you were not a little proud,  
I'd court you in the common Road,  
Nor would I go about the Bush,  
But take thee at the very push.  
But thou art such a pretty Pad,  
It is enough to make one mad.  
Those Eyes which do outshine a Custard,  
Which we may feast on without Mustard;  
Those Arms as clear as Foot of Kite  
(Which should be mine had I my Right)  
That comely Confidence and Grace  
With living Brass that paints thy Face;  
Those feet like Thetis in the Flood,  
Inch deep with dabbling in the Mud,  
And something else that I could name,  
But have not yet beheld the same;  
With all the rest in sober Sadness,  
Do serve but to increase my Madness.  
Could I but see 'em all together,  
Would make my heart light as a Feather,  
No Wonder then your Beauty's such  
That I should long to have a touch.  
Now be as angry as the Devil,  
I cannot help the standing Evil.  
But give me leave before your Face,  
To lay the Fiend your Spell did raise,  
Your Pardon prostrate at your A— hole,  
I humbly beg, who am your Vassal,  
With a fresh stream your Rage I'll cool  
And lay the Tempest of your Pool.  
To Love why are you so severe?  
While to the flower the point I rear,  
Summoned by Beauty to appear  
For all my faults I'd suffer there.  
By Pride do not my Fancy pall,  
Beware, for pride will have a Fall.  
Your Fetters too— But they alas!  
Like Monkey tie me by the A—  
To bear it all, do what you can,  
You'll find I am so much a Man.  
Then will you say when I can get it,  
Who loves it better, sure must eat it.  
And since for me you've done all this,  
I'll be thy own Lyndabridis,  
But if all this should not be taking  
Dina was at Bargain making.  
And she has a plaguy Reach at Lies,  
And punishing of Perjuries.  
I dread to hide, and dread to utter,  
Lest for myself you'd think I mutter.  
But now 'tis out— 'tis only this,  
You fain would be another's Miss.  
The Pimp stays waiting in the Port,  
But the chaste Nymph prevents the sport.  
And when you are upon the peg,  
The Cramp still holds you by the Leg  
Forbear, forbear thus to provoke her,  
Which you may yet, if you'll but stroke her.  
Forbear that Face by too much strictness,  
To slain with green or yellow sickness.  
Preserve those Looks (if Fates say truth)  
Designed a Dish for my own tooth.  
Let these fresh Cheeks their Colour put on,  
That once might roast a Breast of Mutton.  
But if our Die is in her Fits,  
Because you do not mind your hits;  
Let me be haunted with that Spirit,  
My back is broad enough to bear it▪  
It makes my very Bowels quake,  
To think thy Finger should but ache.  
For ah! how am I racked and tortured!  
And every Minute drawn and quartered!  
Sometimes it twists me in the Nose,  
To think that I should be the Cause.  
And beg my Dina for your sake,  
To lay the Burden on my Back.  
But ah! in vain I do contrive all,  
For now, perhaps, you hug my Rival;  
Under pretence to ease your pain,  
He takes you in the merry vein;  
Tries how your Pulses beat before,  
And slips his saucy Fist down lower.  
Kisses your hand, turns up your heels,  
And what he cannot see he feels.  
You saucy Rascal, who made you  
So bold, to rob me of my Due?  
For you are mine, so is that Bosom,  
For thee to reap did never blossom.  
Take, take away your bawdy Paws,  
That (sirrahs) for your Master, sauce;  
Though she's entailed on you, yet she  
Made o'er her Copyhold to me.  
You must not argue on that point,  
For now your Nose is out of joint.  
This my Cydippe is the Devil  
That is the cause of all our Evil,  
And makes our Dina fall a huffing,  
To break your Vows for such a Ruffian.  
My Dear forbid him then your house,  
And you are safe as Church in Mouse.  
Then keep the Oaths and Vows you mumbled  
Which Dina heard and understumbled.  
Then fear not, she will cool thy Liver,  
And be as good a Friend as ever.  
Some patiently turn up their Bum,  
And kiss the Rod when they have done;  
And tho' a Lie deserves a lashing,  
eat being forsworn, and save a slashing.  
Why do ' ye your Parents Crimes enhance,  
And keep the Fools in ignorance?  
Then be not mealy mouthed, but scatter  
The sum and substance of the matter.  
Oh! tell thy Dam how I was smitten  
With thy sweet face, thou with the pippin!  
She cannot call me Knave or Cheat,  
Nor choose but smile at the Conceit.  
Marry, she'll say with all my heart,  
Marriage and hanging do impart  
A secret tye of Destiny;  
If't pleases them it pleases me.  
But if she ask from whence I came,  
Of what Degree, Estate, or Fame,  
Tell her, to satisfy the Dame,  
I'm not ashamed to show my Name.  
Had you not vowed, and made such tenders,  
And swore the Temple out at Windors,  
I'm good enough, though ne'er a Rag on,  
To Lard your Pullet with my Bacon.  
This in my Dream Diana muttered,  
And Cupid's Shafts about me fluttered.  
Go Fool, said they, leave off your dodging,  
This Bill a Deux send to her Lodging.  
Obey 'em both, for I am wounded  
By the young Rascal, most confounded.  
Which if you pity, she the faster  
Who broke your head will give a Plaster.  
Then to the business we will settle,  
You full of Hope, I full of Mettle.  
In triumph then we'll cross the Fields,  
With all the Crowd about our heels,  
To th' Temple-Porch, where I will make  
A Pippin Present for thy sake:  
I'll throw whole Pecks about the Street  
In Memorandum of the Cheat;  
And on the Apple I'll inscribe  
This Wedding Posey for my Bride,  
Know all men by these Presents, hence  
Cydippe is an honest Wench.  
I would write more, but that your Pains  
Give me the Running of the Reins;  
And you're so weak I'll not pursue you,  
For fear lest I should overdo you.    

CYDIPPE Her Answer to ACONTIUS.  
I Read your Note, tho' it was blunt,  
Nor did I swear as I was wont.  
Nor had I valued it a whit,  
But that I feared the peevish Chit.  
You deal it seems with no small Bodies,  
That to your Friend have got a Goddess.  
Is she so chaste to plague a Virgin,  
She rather ought t' have been my Surgeon.  
But I have still the luck to deal  
With Carrion Beef instead of Veal.  
I'm sick I think o'th' Mulligrubs,  
Eating chopped Hay with Sillabubs.  
I languish so with inward Blisters,  
I find no ease in Drugs nor Glisters.  
I write, I vow t'ye, in such pain,  
I'm ready to drop down again.  
And what most racks my Pia mater,  
Lest aught but Nurse should watch my water.  
To gain me time she plays at Trap,  
And tells my Friends I've ta'en a nap,  
More pain for you I could not suffer,  
Tho' you had Goods to fill my Coffer,  
Beauty and Love conspire together,  
'Twere happy had I ne'er known either.  
Whilst with your Rival you are gambling.  
I lose my Fame by your damned babbling.  
While two Dogs strive about the Bone,  
A third comes in, and leaves them none.  
Thus, while your Titles you confound,  
Betwixt two Stools I fall to ground.  
The day draws on, and I must marry:  
My Parents press, nor can I tarry.  
But whilst the Groom waits at the Port,  
Death steps between, and spoils the sport.  
Some call it Chance, and some disparage  
The Gods, to say they cross my Marriage.  
While some do censure, from your Fob  
You gave a Philtre did the job.  
If you're so good at poisoning those  
That are your Friends, who'll be your Foes?  
Would I to Church ne'er found the way,  
Or that I'd broke my neck that day.  
When in your Port we fixed our Anchors,  
We were afraid of nought but shankers.  
Twice did cross Winds oppose us there,  
Cross, did I say? No they were fair.  
Those Winds were fair our Course withstood,  
It's an ill Wind blows on one good.  
Yet to see Delos I was willing,  
Tho' for a Wind I'd given a shilling.  
By Tenos Isle and Mycenae,  
We came to Delos by long Sea.  
And much I feared your Land of Faries  
Would vanish with their Cows and Daries.  
At night we land, though not worth threepences,  
The Maids made me as fine as fi-pences;  
Then to attend the shitten come sh—  
We go, and I throw in my Mite.  
And while my Parents made Preamble  
Of Grace, my Nurse and I did ramble.  
We saw all things we could come at,  
Pictures, and Wonders, God knows what.  
But whilst those Rarities I spy,  
Acontius had me in his Eye;  
And there while on my looks he fed,  
A Sheep's Eye cast from a Calves head.  
Now to the Spire we make a halt,  
Which sure should be no Bawdy Vault.  
With him no sooner did I grapple,  
But there I found the treacherous Apple.  
With this Design— I vow and swear.  
Ah me! what do I do?— I fear  
Again I'm like to be forswore,  
But there's enough of that before.  
The name of Wife made me so great,  
That I was tickled with conceit.  
Why should you cheat a silly Maid  
At such a rate, and play the Jade?  
Is then the Nymph obliged to that,  
Without a touch you know of what?  
The Will was good, why did you fear?  
You might believe tho' I did not swear.  
Yet have I still a damned suspicion  
That I am in an ill condition.  
Thrice Hymen came to pick our locks,  
But thrice he parted with a Pox.  
And Dina still would rule the Roast,  
My Parents gave me o'er for lost.  
What have I done you should abuse me?  
When Ignorance does still excuse me?  
Canst thou, even thou, with all thy wit,  
Canst thou oblige her with a Bit?  
When to her canst thou bring a Fee  
That will excuse both thee and me?  
Nor think thy Rival is allowed  
A greater Favour than the Crowd:  
For tho' he comes without resistance,  
I make the Rascal know his distance.  
If he but steal a kiss, he blushes,  
And straight his Nose with water gushes:  
He once had courage to beseech,  
I bid the Fool go kiss my Breech.  
'Tis such another Nincompoop,  
I sleep, and he begins to droop.  
He sees, yet keeps his Eyes a winking,  
Says nought, but pays it off with thinking.  
He's full of Grief, I full of pain,  
And all this for a Rogue in Grain.  
Your Worship writes for leave to come,  
To kiss the backside of my Bum.  
With Finger in your mouth, I warrant  
You'd have another sleeveless Errand.  
But thou'lt repent when thou dost see  
The Trophies of thy Cruelty.  
My flesh is tawny, Cheeks grow dapple,  
Like the Complexion of your Apple.  
Now Lad, thou wouldst repent my swearing  
And hardly think me worth thy wearing.  
To Delos then would hast to ease thee  
And beg the Goddess to release thee.  
Or in thy Cranny keep a pother  
By new Oaths to outswear the other.  
No means for Health my Nurse omits▪  
And still I have my wont Fits.  
We ask the Wiseman, he replying,  
Can any better come of Lying?  
The Gods are on thy side; in thee  
To be so kind what can they see?  
But so it is— and I must buckle,  
Under thy Footstool for to truckle.  
Since 'tis my Fate thou must be mine,  
I'll say no more but I am thine.  
My Mother now does understand me,  
How with an Apple you trapan'd me.  
What I have said in this Condition,  
I fear I've gone beyond Commission,  
And said already more to thee,  
Than what becomes my Modesty.  
But lately since I took my potion,  
And now I find a sudden Motion.  
Be true, and set thy heart at rest,  
I'll say no more, few words are best.  
FINIS.