A SATIRE Upon the TOWN.  
addressed to a FRIEND in the COUNTRY, dissuading him from Coming up.  

— Similesque meorum  
mill die versas deduci posse— Horat. Sat. I. Lib. 2.   

— Si quis  
Opprobriis dignum laceravit, integer ipse;  
Solventur risu tabulae— ibid.   
licenced, Decemb. 12. 1692.  
LONDON, Printed, and are to be Sold by Randal tailor, near Stationers-Hall, 1693.   

TO THE READER.  
'TIS not my Design to Apologize in Writing a Preface, for some will think it as frivolous to excuse, as others will be unwilling to accept on't: And tho' my Reasons may be good, and means well, yet they'll rather believe I do't to gain applause, than out of a real notion of Honesty. ' Tho my chief intent is only to draw the affections of my own Party, as much as possibly I can to my assistance, that whenever my Adversaries shall make any appearance, I may be the better able to withstand their rash and inconsiderate force, and I'm sure their inveterate and manifest hatred to my Cause, will make their Arguments prove of less Authority against me, for Ignorance and Malice being Sworn Brothers, are seldom or never found apart: Then what Wise Man will give his Opinion in favour of those two Antipodes to Virtue.  
All, or most of the Gang boast of what Satisfaction and calmness of mind they enjoy, in preserving their Consciences free from the imposition of an unlawful Oath, when this, alas! is a Happiness far enough beyond their Sphere( as by their late Private Caballing has too plainly appeared) then 'tis evident, that their aim reaches at nothing but Sedition, and Disturbance, which they are continually forging amongst us, and as often putting fresh Irons in the fire to accomplish their Designs; but all has hitherto proved ineffectual, and the Design has hardly been hot, before the Action has been could. These are your Druid's Sons of the true Mother Church, who would pull down her lofty head under a specious Pretence of raising a more Stately fabric out of her ruins.  
As for the more vulgar sort, I rather conjecture them to be seduced through Ignorance, and a blind Zeal, than any squeamish Fit of Conscience; and these two will have a share in acting their Parts, tho' it only be to keep them from being idle: Nay, some of them make it the Delight of their Souls to blast the Reputation of all Honest Men, and not only to lessen their Characters and Services, but to range them in the number of public Enemies; for they had rather a thousand times see the Government sink under Oppression, than have it thought that any other hand t●an their own has Courage or Honesty enough to save it, and Experience tells us, that when once the gownsmen have preached the People to Tinder, the least spark sets them on fire; so then they have nothing more to do, but to inculcate the Doctrine of Disobedience, and leave the Multitude to chew upon't.  
I had not concerned myself to have Writ on so mean a Subject, had I not received very large Encouragement from some Gentlemen of my own Party, they telling me, that by exposing their Faults, it might be a means to reclaim 'em, and bring 'em to a right sense of their error: These persuasions alone wrought upon me, for I never was Ambitious of appearing in Print, more especially when our Age is so wonderful Critical, that each Spark assumes to himself the privilege of Damning,( and perhaps) for no other reason, than only reading an Emblem of his own Actions in the sense of a Line. Yet I hope, that some of you will prove of a more Candid Disposition, or leastwise more Judicious.  
But if the Genius of my Poem attracts any accommodation, I don't doubt but it will tickle the Wounds of my Adversaries, and so far answer Expectation, as to please where it hurts most: And what Wise Man can be angry with another, who strives to make him smile against his Will; and even my Enemies must be convinced, that I have very much rebated the edge of my Satire, in Relation to the Clergy, yet I could not forbear giving them a gentle Gripe in my foregoing Paragraph; and tho' my Satire has shown them his Teeth by a forced grin, yet he has left them Laughing without a Wound.  
'Twill be satisfaction enough if my Satirick Smiles please the more moderate sort; as for my Enemies, I expect nothing from 'em but Railings; for certainly their applause must be extorted; and whenever it comes, it's like the Melody of Syrens, who Sing, not to stir up Mirth, but to draw you into farther Misfortunes.  Impia sub Dulci mill venena latent.  

A SATIRE Upon the TOWN, &c.  

WIth Calm Retirement, Peace, and Plenty blessed,  
Of all the Wise Man's wished for Wealth possessed:  
Of Care disburthen'd, and removed from Noise,  
encumbered only with a crowed of Joys:  
Puzl'd at nothing, but yourself to please,  
wrapped up in sweet Security, and Ease;  
Sound Sleep at Nights, and welcome toils on Days!  
What fond Desire invades my good Old Friend,  
To quit the Choicest Blessings heaven can sand?  
With just Disdain, and Indignation fired,  
How oft you've wished, you nothing more desired,  
Than to Possess that Portion of Estate,  
Which God had given, in an obscure Retreat:  
Where far from this Infested Nauseous Town,  
You might have room to think, and be alone:  
Yet, sick of Ease, and cloyed with that Delight,  
So Courted once, and wished for: Now you writ,  
" The Country Air is wholesome, sweet, and pure,  
" 'Tis true, but you're in Health, and need no Cure;  
" Innocent, and free, you grant the Rural Sport,  
" Yet but insipid, when compared to Court.  
" Woods, Rivers, Dogs, and Hawks, make poor amends  
" For loss of Wit, and Company of Friends.  
" O! the Sprightly Time, those Days of Mirth,  
" And Nights of Love! when every hour gave birth  
" To New Delights, when not a minute flew,  
" But followed Joys, or Joy did it pursue.  
" With Wine, and cheerful Friends, encompassed round,  
" Unlimited we all our Pleasures found,  
" Our Wine no measure knew, our Wit no bound.  
" Not we on Time, but Time on us did wait,  
" The Day rose early, and the Night watched late;  
" Night did not end, nor did the Day begin  
" Our Play of Mirth, but only changed the Scene.   

Thus, you relate, with Pleasure, Pleasures past,  
Which, eagerly, again you long to taste.  
But, ah! my Friend, those Golden Days are flown,  
And barely the remembrance now's our own;  
Remembrances of joys, which adds this Curse  
To loss of better Days; deep sense of worse,  
Swiftly we followed, what too swiftly ran,  
And though each hour urged the foregoing on:  
We added Spurs to Youth's too fiery Prime,  
And fleeting Pleasure imp'd the wings of Time.  
Our gaudiest Plumes, his Hoary Pinions dressed,  
With Youth we did his Aged Limbs Invest.  
From unfledg'd Loves, the tender Down we clipped,  
Wits Soaring quill, and Mirths gay feather strip'd;  
And all to flatter Time, and make him fine,  
We spilled his Sand, and filled his Glass with wine:  
Ten Thousand other Arts we did Essay,  
tried all Allurements to beguile his stay,  
And yet he stolen insensibly away.  
Ungrateful he, for all our favour shown,  
Fraught with the Spoil, is treacherously flown;  
While we of Beauty, Youth, and Love bereft,  
To Wrinkles, Age, and Impotence are left.  
Yet in the Even of our Life, and when  
We see our setting Sun, we turn again:  
And oft review th' immensity of space,  
So late enlightened by his cheerful Rays,  
Sadly we mourn the great decay of Light,  
till equally at last, deprived of Sight,  
We sink in silence of Eternal Night.  
Thus an unhappy wretch, when set adrift,  
No help of Sails, or Oars, or Tackling left;  
Views with despairing Eyes, the much loved Shore,  
And which, he shortly must behold no more:  
Midst of his horror, vainly thinks upon  
Those past Delights his bleeding Soul has known.  
Feeds his fixed Eyes with the still lessening cost,  
till out of sight, by ebbing Billows tost,  
He yields to Fate, and suffers to be lost.   

So we, dear Friend, when hurried down the stream,  
Turn both our Eyes and Wishes back in vain;  
Shrunk with degenerate Age, in vain we reach,  
With dying hands, at high-flown Joys to catch:  
Nature, in all things else, has ebbs, and flows,  
What Autumn withers, with the next Spring grows,  
But, Life, alas! once ebbed, no reflux knows.  
Yet, could I by unprecedented Art,  
Fresh Youth, and Vigour to my Limbs impart;  
Might I, again repeat my stint of Days,  
And like th' immortal bide, from embers raise  
New vital flamme; I would refuse to live:  
That Mightiest, most prized Boon, which Fate can give,  
I would despise, if with it 'twere enjoined,  
My Life should be to this cursed Town confined:  
Not I, by heaven, I'd not be bribed by Fate,  
So much the busy Factious Place I hate.   

The Town! if heaven had no more mercy for't,  
'thad long since been to its hot Vengeance sport:  
Long since, 'thad glow'd with the same Punishment,  
Its Predecessor Sodom underwent.  
That towering height, which more each day appears,  
As if it took increase from Orphan's Tears,  
The Cries of Widows, and the wrongs of Heirs.  
Had long ago, in humble ruins bowed,  
Her ruin best her guilty head can shrow'd.   

Where Treasons, Plots, and Factions hourly grow,  
Whence all Malignant poisonous Humours flow:  
As from the Ocean, hence all take their Rise,  
Whose Streams supply the Country still with 'vice;  
And having spread Contagion round the Earth,  
Back to that Womb return, which gave 'em Birth.  
Where new Divisions, Sects, and Heresies,  
Religious Schisms, and State Conspiracies  
Are daily forged, where all the murmuring Tribe,  
Repiners at the Government reside.  
Where all those Snarling, Mercenary Curs,  
The Gang of Pamphleteers, and libelers  
Are fed, a tingling Vermin, which foment  
The epidemic Itch of Discontent:  
A Pack of Slaves, that shall for Half a Crown,  
Their King, their Country, or their God disown:  
prepared alike, for any Cause to Write,  
As Lawyers pled for Pelf, and swissers Fight.  
These, with that restless, and uneasy Crew,  
Who ever are for settling Things anew,  
Whose Principle is always to Dissent  
( What e'er it be) from th' Present Government:  
Of all the Plagues that do infest the Town,  
These the most insupportable are grown.  
These are your Men of Conscience, and of Zeal,  
Still labouring for the good o'th' Commonweal;  
Champions, who set the Church and Nation free  
From Arbitrary power, and Popery:  
In this, they did Unanimously join,  
Nay, these were foremost in the Grand Design.  
Prest on to be the first o'th' numerous Tribe,  
Who did their Titles, or their Names subscribe;  
But who expects a Violence should last?  
These Men outran their Consciences for hast;  
And now, as eagerly turn back, to find  
The little Puling thing they left behind.  
So an ill tepmer'd String, when wound so high,  
To pass the due degree of Harmony;  
Unable the immoderate stretch to bear,  
Snaps, and shrinks back, in an unseemly jar.   

" Bless us, what's here! we're finely trap'd( says one)  
" While one extreme industriously we shun,  
" We've unawares into another run.  
" We are from Romish Superstition freed,  
" But here's( what's worse) Presbyt'ry to succeed:  
" Han't we just reason still to be afraid?  
" What's that but Popery in Masquerade?  
" This is falling from Purgat'ry, to Hell:  
" The Patient's ill at ease, whom Doctors tell,  
" A stronger Poison must the weak expel.   

A desp'rate Cure, 'tis true, but I'd fain hear  
What Remedy your wisdom would prepare:  
You, who with discretion hold the Scale,  
And balance both extremes with temperate Zeal,  
Whose Curious Prying Conscience can descry  
The Subtle Ambushes of Popery:  
And therefore won't Jack Presbyter admit,  
For fear his Cloak should hid a Jesuit,  
Yet would the interest of your Church advance,  
By basely truckling to the power of France.  
Profound Device! O what a Charm have we,  
To keep us safe from Popish Tyranny!  
O too too happy we, who can pretend  
To have the Mighty Christian King our Friend!  
Who would not fly on wings of Joy, to meet  
Divine Protection, at his Royal Feet?  
That Greatest, Justest, and most Valiant King,  
To whom the World e're long must Tribute bring!  
Whose Bounteous Mercies flow so very fast,  
That e're we can receive 'em, they'l be past.  
In time then let's our humble Offers make,  
And swift Occasion by the fore-lock take;  
Call home again our Abdicated Prince,  
Who has been taught to Govern better, since  
That Glorious aweful President he saw,  
Of him, whose Will he ever made his Law.  
In Gentler Rule Instructed, and mildred Arts,  
He will again redeem his Subjects Hearts.  
No Laws infringed, nor no Dispensing power,  
Nor Q— nor Priest, shall ever ride him more.  
Nought shall be seen, but Acts of Grace, and Love,  
No sceptre swayed, beside the Peaceful Dove.  
Then shall our British Isles look glad again,  
And J— subordinate to Lewis Reign:  
By his Advice alone the Helm shall Steer,  
Guided by his Direction, who can fear?  
From whose unbounded, and indulgent ston,  
Blessings on us incessantly shall shower.  
Blessings, perhaps not so to vulgar Sense,  
( He does uncommon Benefits Dispense;)  
But Wise Religious Heads know well what's meant  
By all the various Plagues from Heaven sent:  
Can find the Tokens of Divine Affection,  
In the severest smart of due Correction.  
I'll fetch a Doctor strait, shall find ye out  
A hundred Blessings in one Fit o'th' Gout.  
So Royal Persecution is expedient,  
To prove Good Subjects Passively Obedient  
Such are th' endearing Motives which persuade,  
T'invite the Christian Monarch to out aid.  
He'll Health, and Safety to the Nation bring,  
No worse Physician, than he is a King.  
Can Kingdoms Constitutions understand,  
And feel how Pulses beat, through all the Land.  
Can sure Prescriptions give, knows when 'tis good,  
To Purge the Realm, or Let it Blood.  
Cures festered Heresies by Ampulation,  
Can Cauterize too, when there is occasion.  
And has administered( they say) to some  
The Meritorious Crown of Martyrdom:  
Who but for him, perhaps had never attained  
That heaven, their former Wicked Lives profaned.  
Who can refuse, subjection to embrace,  
To one endowed with this Soul-saving Grace?  
How Foolish are the Fears of those, who think,  
Our Church shall under Rome's Oppression sink?  
There's none on's all so Ignorant( I hope,)  
But knows, the French King never loved the Pope.  
Then sure for th' under Tribe, the Priests, and Friers,  
He'll readily comply with our Desires;  
And give us power to sweep 'em forth the Land,  
They dare not Disobey, if he Command.  
Through him, we'll all their blackest Treasons quell,  
Through him, the damned Contrivers all expel,  
So Cast out Devils, through the Prince of Hell.  
Unthinking Crowd, is this the mighty end  
You aim at, this the Conscience you pretend?  
Would you by this means have it understood,  
How Z●alously you wish your Country's Good?  
What, then is this the Loyal Party's Cause?  
Our Sticklers for Religion, and the Laws?  
Our High-flown Church-men, who are Protestants,  
Against the Church of Rome, but not of France;  
They've taught their stubborn Zeal more complaisance,  
Would they with this poor shallow Artifice,  
Conceal their little Treacherous Device?  
Alas! these Holy Shams are out of Date,  
Religion, now is grown too stale a Cheat.  
( Though much we've suffered for't, tho dearly bought)  
We have at length the useful Knowledge got.  
The Cunning'st Noted Sharper, heretofore  
Has been the arrant'st Cully to his Whore.  
The Topping Bullies now, though never so Stout,  
Have all,( or most) been Cowards, beaten to't.  
Then sure 'twere hard on us, if we alone,  
Should be so many several times undone,  
Yet end as arrant Fools, as we begun.  
Who've known the great variety of taste,  
Such Pious Seeds produced, for Ages past,  
Should now be caught ourselves, with Chaff at last.  
What but Jesuitical Impudence,  
Durst e'er impose so grossly on the Sense:  
As if we could live ignorant o'th' Trade,  
Where so many Religions have been made.  
But hold! don't Judge too rashly, we may find  
Several, whose Purposes are well inclined;  
Who have no aim beyond the public Good,  
How e'er it happens they're mis-understood.  
What, though the Means and Methods they pursue,  
Are all Erroneous, still their Zeal is true.  
For, if Ignorance,( as we all on's know)  
The Parent be, whence Piety doth flow,  
Then error, truest Signs of Zeal does show.   

Why this we would have granted, to the few  
Well-meaning Harmless Souls; but the damned Crew  
Of Discontented Statesmen, kicked from place  
Of High Preferment, to profound Disgrace;  
Of Politicians baulk't in full Career,  
And Trap't Cock-sure, just when they left to fear:  
Their Interest then hurrying on amain,  
I'th' troubled Deluge of the Latter Reign:  
Whose Rapid Torrent held a four years Course,  
With an unusual, and resistless force;  
Raising aloft, by its impetuous flood,  
The grovelling Eels, Inhabiters of Mud.  
Who, awkardly a while, o'th' Surface played,  
And did the Nobler Element invade.  
till an all-powerful Calm, unlooked for came,  
And stilled the angry Billows of the Stream:  
Whose clearness when recovered, did affright  
With Lucid Waves, those Fishes of the Night;  
ashamed they slunk into their Native day,  
As Owls, or Goblins fly th' approach of Day.  
These can't pretend,( we reas'nably suppose)  
Loss of Religion, who had none to lose.  
Sure Statesmens Consciences are better known,  
A Statesmans Conscience, when his Int'rest's gone!  
Not Usurers, when privacy affords  
With safe Extortion, to increase their Hoards:  
Not Lawyers, when light Titles are supplied  
With weighty Gold, to poise the juster side;  
Not Fleet street Whores, when Wine and Sleep conspire,  
To lull within their Arms, a Golden Squire;   

Not a Religio●s, Praying, Whining Cit,  
When with most Zeal, he plays the Hypocrite,  
And has gained your good esteem; nay farther,  
Not Jesuits, when to advance their Order,  
More Naturally, or with less regret,  
The then unnecessary trifle quit.   

Yet, these are Leaders, of the Pious Band,  
The Conscientious Patriots of the Land!  
To these their Troop of Parasites succeed,  
Poor Scoundrels, who are Jacobites for need;  
These are the humble Creatures, of their Lords,  
Who shit 'em in what form they please like T—  
Fellows, that for Dinners, and an old Coat,  
Shall be of any side, give any Vote,  
Like echoes, only having Voice, by root.  
Next approach,( and these indeed sit heavy)  
All the discontented Tribe of Levy;  
From these, the Cause has greatest Assistance,  
For they defend it, with Non-Resistance.  
Nay they bring Bigots too, for 'tis much feared,  
A scabby Pastor, does infect his Herd,  
These, sanctify Rebellion with the Church;  
They'l hook in that, though they leave it ith' lurch.   

Bless us, an Oath imposed! that's too severe,  
Must Holy Men against their Conscience Swear?  
Poor Hearts! A bitter Pill, they can't digest,  
Priests were not more digusted at the Test.  
Yet some have swallowed it, and not been Sick,  
Oh! when 'twas guilded with a bishopric.  
I, mary Sir, could we have allbei● Prelates,  
There had been but few Dissenting Zealots,  
But ' stead of that, here several we find,  
Who for the Lawn and Mitre, were designed:  
And after they'd agreed to Cov'nants made,  
That any Declaration, should be red  
In their precincts, to make which Contract fast,  
REGIS & SACERDOTIS VERBUM, past.  
' Midst of these Hopes they had to mount a Throne,  
Just when aspiring to't were tumbled down.  
Beside a Number of th' inferior Sort,  
All who had bought fair Promises at Court,  
Nay some more forward too, had paid the Price,  
To be installed in a Fat bnfice,  
And had engaged their Consciences, to stretch  
To all that was enjoined 'em for to Preach;  
And who at Under-rates could not agree,  
Laid out their very Souls in Simony.  
Yet after all( were ever Men so crost!)  
To be from these fair hopes o'th' sudden tost,  
To be surprised by a Revolution  
That has hudl'd all things in confusion.  
Were ever Politicians so exposed!  
T' have all their Pious purposes disclosed,  
And they themselves, condemned to be perplexed  
In this World, who have forfeited the next.  
Would not this fire a Saint, make patience hot?  
Who, but would Swear at this?( so, it were not  
For th' Government,) and vow to wreak Revenge,  
On all who wrought the unexpected change.   

I own, I think the Doctors are i'th' right,  
What e're provoked the reverend S— s spite,  
To give 'em that malicious public hint,  
( The Sermon,( if I err not) is in Print)  
When openly he stuck not to declare,  
No Jacobite could utter the Lord's prayer,  
But, thence as much debarred as Witches are.  
This was severe, from one, who not long since,  
Right Reason had the power to Convince.  
But, let the Sacred Herd, unpunished pass,  
heaven in time may bless 'em with more Grace;  
If not, yet gently may they spin their days,  
Grow fat, by being silenced and at Ease.   

Next, does the medley of the Cause advance,  
An indigested Chaos, wrought by chance,  
To an ill-form'd Union; if that can be,  
Union, whose parts though joined yet disagree.  
For different Reasons, these abhor the State,  
In nothing sympathising, but in hate.  
So Men of barbarous Tempers, become Friends;  
Such, each Man's Spleen, toth' tother recommends:  
No Sense of worth, does their Affection move,  
But, for they hate alike, each other Love.   

For some, who prudently resolved to wait,  
And watch th' uncertain end of labouring Fate:  
Not knowing on the sudden, which way, best  
They might establish their own Interest;  
Till from the Series of Success, they learned,  
Th' Almighty's self, was in the work concerned;  
Then, would have truckl'd to the stronger Sway,  
As unsteer'd Ships the ruling winds obey.  
But tottering unsteady Barks,( like these)  
Are only sport, toth' sovereign of the Seas;  
From his Auspicious Care, and Charge exempt,  
Deservedly were shipwrecked on Contempt.  
Their Needy, forced compliance with the State,  
Like Death-beds scorned Repentance came too late.  
So these, like Lewd Expiring Sinners fare:  
Alike refused the benefit of prayer,  
Are Jacobites, and Scoundrels, through Despair.  
To th' slighted Fools, succeed young Fops a store,  
Things who ne're were of any side before;  
But being  told, that they'll be looked upon  
As Men of Honour, and Religion:  
To join the weak, shows a Generous Spirit,  
Their Enemies must own, that speaks some Merit:  
And if( as who can tell what may fall out)  
Another Revolution come about;  
They're fair to be made Great Men, which 'tis plain  
They're never like to be in this King's Reign.  
So th' young Gentleman, willing to be known,  
By being o'th' wrong side, rather than of none,  
Embraces strait the Cause, and is preferred  
To th' Top Acquaintance, of the Grumbling Herd.  
Grows learned o'th' sudden, in Intrigues of State,  
Can politicly Argue, and Debate  
Th' unhappy Case of Kings who Abdicate.  
God's Judgements for Rebellion, much he fears,  
Then falls a railing at the Court, and Swears,  
There's no living, ' till the King Relaxes  
Some of these intolerable Taxes;  
He vows to God, he shall be quiter undone,  
That all his Tenants, in arrears are run,  
Once he'd a Leash of Whores, now keeps but one.  
Nor has he Money left, to engage her  
To stay, did not now at then a Wager  
Hit, which comes from his being well informed  
Which Towns will be held out, and which be stormed.  
What Sieges to be laid, what raised, who slain,  
And all that is to happen this Campaign.  
Witness the swinging Stakes were won on Mons,  
Athlone 'tis true's a little hard upon's;  
Though there, we did not lose on Information.  
But the damned brittle Valour of that Nation,  
Which having cursed, with lift up Hands, and Eyes,  
H' extols the gallic Prowess to the Skies;  
And takes occasion thence, to tell how much,  
The Frothy French excel the muddy Dutch.  
But here the parley 'gins to feel decrease,  
Like resty Jade, at fag end of a Race,  
The ill-bred Causes Vigour sinks apace.  
Just thus, a Vessels emptiness we know,  
The poor expiring Cask, w'are sure runs low,  
Once Dregs, and fulsome Lees begin to flow.  
Should I, all the unhallowed Rout Rehearse,  
'Twere to debase the Dignity of Verse.  
Yet hold— a Chief Ingredient I'd forgot,  
Nay, the very Life, Blood and Soul o'th' Plot.  
O'th' Tender Charming Sex, a goodly throng,  
To whom a numerous Train of Beans belong;  
These, with attractive Art, led up and down  
By th' Noses, all the Smock Hero's of the Town:  
And form the Mightiest Parties for the Cause,  
For you know what, more than Ten Oxen draws.  
Then, in their number, they exceed all measure,  
All that are Whores, whether for Need, or Pleasure.  
Are Jacobites,—  
From keeping Countess in embroidered satin,  
Down to the humble trudging Punk in Patten.  
For as forementioned Politicians, hate  
An uncorrupted and well-governed State;  
So these abhor( and who can blame 'em for't)  
The virtuous Reformation, in the Court.  
Oh! 'twas a damned Malicious Reformation,  
Just then to come, when Sin was grown in fashion;  
A little more, they might have don't bare-faced,  
Without the paltry fear of being disgraced:  
If Cuckoldom had met with plain Conviction,  
They might have pleaded Title of Prescription.  
But now again, 'tis even a Scandal grown,  
To lye with any's Husband but ones own.   

Hard Fate! I'm sure, however things are settled,  
The Ladies have just reason to be nettl'd;  
Whatever Rights or Laws may be secured,  
They bear a hardship scarce to be endured:  
Their interest, and Religion's sure to fall,  
If Pleasure sink, Pleasure to them is all.  
With Liberty of Conscience, they'll Dispense  
At any time, for Liberty of Sense  
But that confined, a dreadful Grievance brings,  
never felt, ith' Reigns of late departed Kings.  
Ah! then were Joyous Days, when Coelia's Charms,  
could mould the waxed Monarch in her Arms:  
No interruption came from rude Alarms.  
No noise of War to break the Soft Embrace,  
Loves Tents, alone were pitched in Fields of Peace.  
Alas! what Alterations do we feel,  
A Warlike Hero, Clad in rugged Steel,  
Now Rules, whose too aspiring Soul's above  
The low Inglorious flights of short-wing'd Love.  
Our Darling Joys, he hence has taken far,  
And all our ablest Youth debauched to War.  
While we,( ah! sure no harder Tax can be)  
Are forced to pay the Mulct of Chastity.  
Ah there's the Grief, and 'tis a dismal Case,  
To see what Shifts poor Hearts make now adays;  
To see a Young and Tender Creature lie,  
Melting in thought of amorous ecstasy;  
Her Morning Beauties glowing through desire,  
Her Eyes, her Blood, her very Soul on fire  
To taste the Bliss, when finding no relief,  
She kicks, and gnaws the harmless Sheets for Grief.  
till grown impatient of the tingling Smart,  
Nature inflamed, she Mollifies by Art.  
These Hardships justly weighed, who can forbear  
To take the part of the much injured Fair?  
Were I endued with a good-natured Muse,  
I swear I'd writ a choir in their excuse.   

But now, Dear Friend, there is some Respite due  
Both to my foundered Pegasus, and you.  
With an uneven, dull and heavy patie,  
I've whipped him through these dirty rugged ways;  
Now trotting, now stumbling, now and then starting,  
Sometimes asleep, then lashing out and F— thing.  
Seeing his scurvy Tricks, I think it fitter.  
To Set him up, give him his Oats, and Litter,  
Than Spur him on, in an unpleasant Road,  
Up to the Saddle Skirts, each step in Mud.  
For should I strive to tell those many Scores  
Of Sycophants, discarded Pimps, and Whores,  
With useless Bawds, now all turned out of doors.  
Of Affidavit-Men, and Knights o'th' Post,  
And all the Devil's Factors, who have lost  
Their Trade at Court, with that fair Correspondence  
Which seemed to be so firmly fixed not long since.  
'Twere endless Labour, I as soon might tell,  
How many Fools on Earth, or Fiends in Hell.  
If what I've said already, ben't of Force  
To stop your rash and inconsiderate Course;  
If you too deaf to all Advice are grown,  
That( Maugre all these Plagues,) you'll come to Town;  
Whatever across, or Mischief, thence is bread,  
Be all the guilt alone upon your head;  
however Torments, Cares, or Pains ensue,  
Be justly all ascribed( alone) to you;  
I've done my part, and can no more, Adieu.   
FINIS.   

ERRATA.  
page. 9. line 7. for tepmer'd, red tempered. p. 11. l. 13. for instructed, r. indulged. for mildred, r. Milder. p. 16. l. 15. for they left to, r. theyed lost their.