A TERNARY OF SATYRS. CONTAINING,  
1. A satire against MAN.  
2. A satire against WOMAN.  
3. A satire against the POPISH-CLERGY.  
Composed in French by an Exquisite Pen, And now done into English.  
LONDON, Printed for W. Leach, at the Crown in Cornhill, 1679.   

A satire AGAINST MAN.  
OF Creatures all, that fly i'th' Air, or be Walking on Earth, or swimming in the Sea,  
From Paris to Peru, Rome to Japan,  
The grand Fop-Animal, methinks, is MAN.  
What! Aunts, Worms, Rampant Infects (you'll reply  
To me in haste) that live imperfectly,  
The bellowing Bull, Goat browzing o'th' young sprout,  
Have much more Wit than Man? Yes, without doubt.  
This, to you Doctor, 's a surprising thing:  
Of the whole World Man is both Lord and King;  
Woods, Fields, Creatures, were made for's Use we find;  
His Portion was a Rational Mind.  
'Tis true, at first, Reason fell to his Lot,  
Thence I conclude Man is the greatest Sot.  
These things, you'll say, in a Satyric stile  
Will please the Reader, that designs to smile,  
But you must prove it by Rule, Sir. Well, agreed.  
Your Answer then, good Doctor, pray proceed.  
What's Wisdom? Aequanimity by name,  
Which nothing can disturb, no Lust inflame,  
Which moves in Council at a prouder rate,  
Than a Dean mounts the Palace Stairs in state.  
Now this calm State is Wisdom I confess,  
And who, than Man, e'er understood it less?  
The Ant, who yearly traverseth the Fields,  
Hoards Magazines, which Ceres Treasure yields;  
And when that Boreas brings back the Cold,  
Makes Nature, rushing from thick Mists, look old,  
She skulks in darkness, but enjoys that while  
The Fruits in Winter of her Summer's toil:  
Yet you ne'er find this Creature wavering,  
Active in Winter, Idle in the Spring;  
Affront the first Month's fury on the Plain,  
Or lazy when the Ram returns again.  
But Man ne'er halts in's mad Career, doth run  
From Thought to Thought, sans intermission;  
'Mongst thousand Broils in's Heart still floating, shows  
What he would, or would not, he never knows.  
What he to day loves, he to morrow hates.  
For my part I le go wed a Wench that prates;  
Enured t' Affronts, thus frequently I'll show  
The City's Motto, Cuckolds all a-row.  
Besides me, Fops enough th' Town-talk, I know,  
Said the dull Marquis but a Month ago,  
Wh ' a Fortnight since the Marriage Snare did take,  
And summoned only for Example sake,  
Nay, 'tis his Creed; That God did make a Bride  
True for him only out of a new Side.  
This is right Man, who roves from Black to White,  
Condemns i'th' Morn his Sentiments last Night:  
Importunes all, himself does incommode,  
Changes his Mind as often as his Mode;  
Turns at each gust, and stumbles at a straw;  
For th' Sword to day, to morrow for the Law.  
Survey him in his aery-humored strain,  
Lulled with the fond Chimeras of his Brain;  
He's Nature's basis and her sole support,  
The tenth Heaven wheels about, but thank him for't:  
He's Lord of all the Creatures, you'll reply;  
Who can deny't? possibly that may I.  
But without Trial, in dark Dens who fears  
The Bear? The Traveller, or he the Bears?  
Whether by Edict made in Nubia,  
Can Smithfield-Lions scour Lybia.  
This titular Lord who gives them Laws, even he,  
This King of Beasts, how many Kings hath he?  
Ambition, Love, Avarice, Hate, we find  
With slavish fetters do enchain his mind.  
Soft sleeps no sooner do close up his eyes,  
But's time to march, says Avarice, arise;  
Nay, let me take one minutes rest, you'll say.  
The Suns not up, nor Apprentice, 'tis not day.  
No matter, rise; for what? when all is done,  
From East to West to blow the Ocean;  
Porcelan and Amber seek for at Japan,  
At Goa Ginger, Pepper too, fond Man!  
I'm rich enough you'll say, this toil i'll pass.  
You cannot Doctor, too much wealth amass.  
You must no perjury, nor Crime forbear;  
Your Lodging must be hard, and hard your fare,  
Had you more wealth than Croesus, yet ne'er crave  
Goods in your House, nor a Domestic Slave.  
On Barley live and Ry, hazard your Throat,  
'Mongst heaps of stores rather than lose a Groat.  
And why (the Reason Sir) live thus and spare?  
That a well educated and brisk Heir,  
Of wealth to you useless may make a gain,  
And the whole Town, in time, cheat with his Train.  
What then? He must departed; th' wind fills the Sails;  
If Money tempts not with its Charms, but fails:  
With a more splendid Train Ambition goes,  
And forcibly ruffles his calm repose;  
Exposes him to danger for a Name,  
Tracing the Caesar's steps, but comes off lame:  
And in the Breach rashly with Death beset;  
Does by's fool-hardiness Grace the Gazet:  
But some may say, Drol more to purpose; hold,  
This Vice the Hero's Virtue was of old:  
Was the Pellaean youth, think you, too blame;  
Who causelessly all Asia set on Flame?  
He, Hairbrained, Bloody, did his case bewail,  
And called the Conquered World his closer Jail.  
Stormed, of a Province small that he should be  
Born King, he might have Governed prudently;  
Phancying himself a God, about did room,  
Like a Bandito, without House, or Home.  
By Horrors of the War attended, he  
Filled the whole World with his grand Foppery:  
Happy had been the Macedonian's Fate,  
If some small Cottage had been his Estate;  
And by advice of Friends and Tutors, he  
Had been confined there from his Infancy:  
But not to wander with Digression,  
And like Senault through all the passions run;  
In Classes them, and Titles to Dispose;  
Then Dogmatise in Verse, and Rhyme in prose.  
To th' Schools and Lawyers let us leave this Art;  
And take a view of Man's most Noble part.  
'Tis said, he only in walled Towns lives, who  
Dictates Civility and Manners too;  
Makes Rulers, Magistrates and Kings, we see;  
Obeys the Laws, observes a Polity.  
'Tis true; yet, without Policy or Law,  
Or of the Officers standing in awe,  
Do you cursed Wolves in Highways  discover  
Like Man Inhuman, rifling one another?  
You never saw fierce Tigers, bearing sway,  
With Factions divide Hyrcania.  
Does the rough Bear in woods war with the Bear?  
The Praetors prey on Praetors in the Air?  
Find you i'th' Afric Plains (the Land of wonder)  
That Beasts their own Republics rend asunder?  
Lion's 'gainst Lions, Sire 'gainst Sire debate,  
In the fond Choice of Tyrants to a State?  
Of all Nature  teemed, the fiercest Creature  
Regards, in his own Species, his own Feature;  
Their Rage to one another Moderate,  
Live without Noise, Law Suits, Clamour, Debate.  
Eagles in Camp, pretending Royal sway,  
Tie not an Eagle to th' Appearance day.  
No Fox, against a Fox, did  give fees,  
Unto a Lawyer for his stealing Geese.  
The Hind in Rutting-time you never saw  
The Hart, for's Impotence, accuse at Law.  
There are 'mongst them no Placats, nor Requests,  
No Council, nor yet Chamber of Inquests.  
They Live one with another safe and free,  
Under pure Laws of Simple Equity.  
By Cut-Throat-Man, Self-Murder only is  
A brutish Honour counted: Nor is this  
Sufficient; for he by infernal Aid,  
Sharpened the Murdering Steel, Gunpowder made;  
And in his Rage, to th' World a fatal Pest,  
With puzzling Laws perplexed the Digest,  
Seeking with Glosses to obscureed; thus he,  
With heaps of Authors, smothered Equity.  
And to complete our woes, to France did bring  
Haranguing Eloquence, that Irksome thing.  
Soft, you will say; what need you thus fly out?  
Man has his Passions beyond all doubt;  
And as the Sea ebbs and flows, falls and rises;  
But his mean Virtues balance all his Vices.  
In fine, is it not Man, whose daring Arts  
By th' Compass, measures th' World, and all its parts?  
Whose comprehensive Knowledge grasps all things?  
Knows, rifling Nature, whence the first cause springs?  
Have Animals their Universities?  
Take they Degrees in the four Faculties?  
Have they Doctors of Law and Physic, who  
Wear scarlet Robes, and fur'd with Ermines too?  
No, their Physicians, Poisons ne'er impart,  
Made up in Doses by their Murdering Art;  
Armed with vain Arguments, they don't like Fools  
Grow hoarse with bawling 'mongst them in the Schools.  
No more; if ever our weak minds do  
Know any thing they know, or aught e'er knew;  
Tell me, i'th' Age we live in, if you can,  
Whether by knowledge they do measure Man?  
Would you have the Grandees throng to you, Son,  
The Father said to's Child with tender Down,  
Then take the surest side, throw books away;  
A hundred Francs at 5 pence, what make they?  
Well said, thou know'st, all that is fit I see,  
What Wealth and Honour now will shower on thee!  
Practise these Nobler Sciences, my Boy,  
Leave Plato off, take the Checquer Employ;  
Seek out what Provinces turn best t' account,  
To what th' King's Salt- Gabel does yearly amount;  
Harden thy Heart, turn Arab, Pirate, Jew,  
B'unjust, Oppressive, doubly Faithless too:  
Play not the Generous Fop, swell thy Estate  
And Fortune, squeezing the Unfortunate;  
Cheating Colbert's unwary Prudence; try  
To merit Fortune by thy Cruelty.  
Than thou'lt soon find, the Poets, Orators,  
Grammarians, Doctors and Astronomers  
Degrade the Hero's, to make room for thee,  
And their Books swelled with thy High Titles see.  
In Hebrew, Greek and Latin prove, that you  
The strength and whole Design of their Art knew.  
Rich! and you're all; Wise, without Wisdom too;  
Learning's your Portion, though you nothing know.  
YE have Spirit, Soul, Merit, Rank, all that's Good;  
Dignity, Virtue, Valour, Noble Blood:  
Beloved by great ones, cherished by the Fair;  
To Surintendents all are Debonair.  
Gold, Beauty to Deformity doth give;  
But all is Dismal, if in want you live.  
Thus th' wary Usurer his Son educates,  
Tracing a facile way to Grand Estates;  
And oft hits, though he knows but this, weak brains!  
Five and fours Nine, subtract two, seven remains.  
Now Doctor, read the Bible, till you be  
Pale, mark the shelves out of that dreadful Sea;  
Of that Divine Book th' holy Horror sound;  
Luther and Calvin in one Tract confound,  
Unravel all the famed Debates of old;  
The Rabbins Learned Obscurity unfold:  
To th' end a Bible, in Spanish Leather bound,  
When ye are well stricken in years, to some Renowned  
Porter, may Dedicate your Work Profound;  
And for Reward of your Bible-Explanation  
Pay you, with Thank you Sir, i'th' Acceptation.  
Or if thy Mind at greater things does aim,  
The Sorbonist's, the Schools and Cap Disclaim,  
Take up a gainful Trade henceforth, and be  
Apprentice t' a Banker or a Notary:  
Then leave Aquinas to agree with Scot,  
And yield with me, A Doctor's but a Sot.  
A Doctor? no, a Poet you'll reply;  
You force your rash Muse there to soar too high:  
But not to talk away time out of season,  
Come to the Test; is't not Man that has Reason?  
Is't not his Light? his faithful Pilot too?  
Yes; but pray to what purposes say you;  
When they to faithless Winds entrust themselves,  
Having in view nothing but Rocks and shelves,  
What boots it C— if reason oft do Cry,  
Leave Scribbling, Cure thy Rhyming Malady;  
If all this good Advice won't make him cease,  
But's Ballad-fury still the more increase;  
His Verse daily with noise he does recite,  
And puts Relations, Neighbours, Friends to flight.  
For when his Daemon moves him, then 'tis said,  
All persons leave him, but his Kitchen Maid.  
An Ass, by Nature taught, obeys, poor thing!  
It's leading Instinct, without murmuring;  
Nor does, with his harsh voice, the Birds defy,  
To sing in Consort with him; foolishly  
He, without reason, marches on his way;  
But Man enlightened by't, 's blind at noon day:  
Ruled by himself, does all at Counter-season,  
In what he does has neither sense nor Reason.  
Things please and displease him, oblige and mad,  
He without Reason is both brisk and sad;  
His mind does love, avoid, pursue by chance,  
Do, undo, add, deprive, destroy, advance.  
And do you find like him Panther or Bear,  
Themselves with their own Fancies idly scare?  
With Airy Fantômes combat th' appetite,  
And with vain Contests disappoint Delight?  
Tell me, did Man  know the Beasts unwise,  
Sacrifice to him, or him Idolise?  
Approach him, like th' Winds or Time's Deity,  
Beg weather fair or foul with bended knee?  
No: but Beasts oft see th' hypocondriac  
Man worship metal, he himself did make;  
See th' Country, where faint-hearted Mortals do  
Tremble at a Monkey's foot and Altar too;  
And those weak People, bordering on the Nile,  
Offer up Incense to the Crocodile.  
But why, say you, this Example odious?  
Egypt, and her false Gods, what's that to us?  
You'll prove by this profane Discourse alas,  
Good Doctor, Man's inferior to an Ass.  
A Creature that's the scoff of all the rest,  
Subject to thousand woes, a stupid Beast,  
Whose only Name will set a satire off:  
Yes t' an Ass, what is't makes us at him scoff  
And flout? but if that him we would permit,  
On our Defaults to exercise his Wit;  
Or to Reform us, if kind Heaven would grant  
The use of speech at length, he now does want,  
That he his mind might freely utter, pray  
What, betwixt you and I, would he not say?  
What can he think, when 'mongst the Rabble Rout  
In a Parisian street he stairs about,  
And sees Fantastic Men in their Array;  
Some daubed with lace, some clothed in Black, some Grace?  
What says he, when he an Assassin does find  
Gallop to's Patient carrying Death behind?  
When 'fore a Rector a rude Squadron's found,  
Marching in state with Beadles circled round?  
Or does the Sheriff in a huge Crowd spy,  
In Ceremonious state lead Men to die?  
What thinks he of us, when on a Court-day  
He to the Palace takes by chance his way,  
And afar off hears a damned, knavish Fellow,  
Just like a Fury, in the Great Hall bellow?  
What says he, when he sees the Officers,  
Judges, Clerks, Proctors, Ushers, Registers?  
O' if the Ass should turn Manhater then,  
And, as in Aesop's time, speak once again;  
Seeing every where that Men such great Fools be,  
He from his heart would without Jealousy,  
Content with Thistles, shake his head, and cry,  
I'faith, Man is but a Beast, as well as I.  
FINIS.   

A satire AGAINST WOMAN.  
IN this declining Age I'm bold to say;  
Man is composed of a less Noble Clay,  
Then heretofore; Nature does clog the Earth  
With a degenerous, and sordid Birth:  
Thrusts Men Dough-baked into the World; dull Clods?  
Who want a Fire from the inspiring Gods.  
To Actuate their Souls, that they may be,  
Men unconfined, and, like the Air, free.  
By their Base Condescension Females sway  
Who were by Nature Destined to Obey;  
For Woman in this Foppish Age and Nation,  
Like Adam, Lords it o'er the whole Creation;  
Nay she does more, than Adam e'er could do,  
She names the Beasts, and sometimes makes them too.  
Yet Man this Thing first Weds, then bears it'h Van  
The Turkish Ensign, the ' a Christian.  
How shamefully does Man on Woman dote?  
The Breeches warp unto the Petticoat?  
'Tis strange, methinks, and yet 'tis True, that we  
Should live in this Decrepit Age, to see  
The Pike and Pen, do Homage to the Spindle;  
'Twould vex a Royal Spleen, a Passion kindle  
Within a Stoic's Breast, that e'er Man She  
Should claim Imperiously Supremacy.  
A Faithless, souls, Senseless; Puny Chit,  
Neither endowed with Reason, nor with Wit;  
A mere Bagatel, a Childish Tov,  
At best a Bardless, Sex-distinguished Boy;  
A well-complexioned. Fury, Seeming Saint,  
Only made up of Powder, Patch and Paint;  
A Fair-foul-fiend, whose Fascinating Ey,  
Basilisk like, darts poison, till they die,  
Who are her Objects; murders by wholesale,  
As if she scorned to Slaughter by Retail:  
nature's Disgraceful By blow, Blush and Shame,  
A Peevish, Idle, Gossipping, Proud Dame;  
Who in her best of humours (no one doubts)  
Is troubled with the Tattles, or the Pouts;  
Whose Windmill pated Clack does far out run  
The rapid Motion of the posting Sun.  
When Meager Death strikes with his Fatal Dart  
Males, the last Member dying is the Heart,  
But when the Females, whether Old or Young,  
Then the last Member dying is the Tong.  
Ancient Philosophy denied the Notion,  
(Modern finds true) of a Perpetual Motion;  
'Tis strange to me; when the wise Greek of old,  
Had his Xantippe, that Notorious Scold,  
Whose Aspen leaved Tongue never could stand still;  
Nay she (resolved in all to have her will;)  
When he to shun her Clamour out did fly,  
Bedewed his Hairy Scalp with Chamber-lye.  
What said the Good Man t'ot? why, 'tis no Wonder,  
I did expect a storm after such Thunder.  
it'h Cradled Infancy of Childish Time,  
When th' unborn Man, Created in his Prime,  
Governed the World, then Peopled but with two,  
And Eden their Apartment was, He, who  
A Tenure had given by Heaven in Fee;  
TO him and his Heirs of Immortality,  
And the whole World his own Real Estate;  
As much as Avarice could crave; said Fate!  
To Forfeit Life, Real Estate, and all,  
Through Eve's Temptation, by a Cursed Fall.  
Which crippled his Posterity e'er since,  
And made him Delve, who first was made a Prince.  
If the Pure state of Perfect Innocence  
Brought forth bad actions, we must now dispense  
With worse, or fear them, and so guard ourselves,  
From the sly Craft of these Bewitching Elves,  
Six Thousand years' Experience, little les;  
Must crown their Malice with desired Success.  
Then for the future, who will e'er believe  
This Female Brat of Apple-eating Eve?  
A Crafty Cheat, Decoy, a mere Trepan,  
A Ratle to disturb the Quiet Man;  
A Painted Tomb, that entertains within,  
No other Guests but Rottenness and Sin;  
Whose soul's Benegroed black as He, at best,  
Who wears nature's dark sables in the West:  
The unstained Man of Us, in whom we see  
Patience Proverbial, Wealth and Poverty,  
Whose Fertile Fields, Treasure, Cattle and Stores  
At first were numerous, as at last his Sores,  
Whose Riches, as Approved Authors grant,  
Can not be matched it'h Opulent Levant;  
When he had lost his Issue, Flocks and Lands;  
Robbed of his Camels by Chaldaean Bands,  
Deprived of all but his most Wretched Life,  
Tormenting Satan, and a Tempting Wife:  
The Jailer of th' Infernal Abys gains  
Leave, by Divine Permission, with Sore Pains  
T' afflict the Good Man, who lays his damned Clutch  
Upon his Body, and with one foul Touch,  
His Blood Ferments, Ebulliats through his Pores  
And fills him Cap-a pie with filthy sores.  
Now the Poor (once Rich) Man, who was so Great,  
Hath nothing but a Dunghill for his Sear;  
A worthless Potsherd, the Instrument with which  
He scrapes his Blanes t' allay the painful Itch.  
And when 'twas found, that all this would not do,  
The Tempter tempts his Wife to tempt him too;  
Who thus Accosts with Evish subtlety,  
Dear, though Poor Job, prithee, Curse God, and die!  
But he stands firm, like an unshaken Rock,  
And Patiently endures the Boisterous Shock  
Of all Assaults; had Adam done so too,  
It had been better for him, me and you.  
Next to th' Ephesian Matron I Appeal,  
Whose name Historians modestly conceals;  
Daughter to one, who heaps of wealth did gain,  
By Rich Returns, ploughing the Briny Main:  
She by a Brisk Youth Courted, soon was Wed,  
Enjoyed the pleasures of a Marriagebed,  
And was as suddenly by Cruel Fate  
Left Consortles, and in a Widowed State:  
Now she declines all Comfort, and does strive;  
Like a  wife t' Entomb herself alive.  
Who thus deprived of her Dearest all,  
With rivulets of tears laments his Fall.  
A Soldier, guard t' a Rogue (whose Villainy  
Hanged him upon a Gibbet fixed hard by)  
On no less Penalty than Death, should he  
Be by his Friends stolen from the Fatal Tree,  
Boldly with his strict orders does dispense,  
And, in the Night silently steals from thence;  
By a Taper's glimmering Light led to a Vault,  
Where, at his first approach, he made an Halt.  
Spying a Lady overwhelmed with Grief,  
He thought, in Charity, wanted Relief;  
She first assaults him; Spectre, Ghost, discover  
What thou darest say to a Distressed Lover!  
But to Weak Nature forced to submit,  
Through Faintness, falls into a Swooning Fit;  
Startled, and at a los, he hastes in fine,  
To his full Jug of Ammunition-wine,  
Gives her a mod'rat Potion, which it'h close;  
Proved a Restorative and Cordial Dose,  
Reviving nature's stifled heat; so She  
Recovered soon of her lipothymy,  
And then he, Soldier like, Banquet's her there  
What some repeated Draughts, and Knapsacfare.  
To find Humanity lapped up in Buf  
Was a strong Obligation, and enuf  
To sway with her, whom Grief did so Perplex,  
(Besides the weakness of her weaker Sex)  
And that from an unknown Physician, who  
Proved both her Mars, and her Apollo too,  
Now she Caresses, Kisses, yields to that,  
Which my Muse blusheth at, I know not what.  
And this the Proverb verifies, In Love  
Nothing that's Violent can Lasting Prove.  
She, fired with her new Love beyond Degree,  
Her old Love's Grave their Brothel-House must be,  
Defiles her Husband's Ashes, False! Unjust!  
Makes his Dead Corpse Pimp to her filthy Lust;  
This is not half the Traguses Comedy,  
The last Act shows her Marchles Constancy.  
But now the Soldier to his Charge returns,  
And finds the Body lost: O how he burns  
With Rage and Indignation, Foams and Rores,  
Just like the wounded Erymanthian Boars!  
Runs, Madman like, back to his Grecian Dame,  
And does 'gainst Her, and the whole Sex Exclaim,  
Raves, like a Fiend Infernal, and does tear  
The unbought Locks of his Course Straggling Hair;  
Curses Fate, Fortune, Destiny, and She  
That was his Grave-Companion, Desp'ratly;  
Who bears these Outrages, continues Calm,  
And strokes his Wainscote-Cheeks with Snowy Palm,  
By Woman-Craft persuades him all is well,  
Or shall be,  they quit that Dismal Celestina;  
Patience, she cries, let me alone to shift,  
A Woman's Wit is best at a Dead Lift:  
Know Man of War, 'tis usually said,  
A Live-dog's better than a Lion Dead.  
Thus she Advises: see the Pregnancy  
Of Female Wit, in Plotting Villainy.  
There is but one Expedient for you,  
(That must be done with Expedition too)  
T' escape the Ignominius Destiny  
O'th' ' Criminal stolen from the Gallow-tree;  
Haste then, for fear the prying Sun descry  
The Female Cheat, with his All-seing Eye;  
The Stately Mausolea of Proud Kings,  
The Noble Structures, are but empty things,  
Subject to Time and Fate, waste and decline,  
Like the Vined Ashes, which they do Enshrine.  
The Tartars hang their Dead upon a Tree,  
In Imitation of them, so will We.  
From Earth to Air remove him, I Consent;  
The Air's a far more cleanly Element:  
Break up the Tomb, the Corpse uncoffin strait,  
Since 'tis Decreed so by Compulsive Fate;  
The best of Mortals, and of Noblest Birth,  
When Dead, is but a Lump of senseless Earth.  
Friendship and Love determine in the Grave,  
All but Surviving Charity to Save  
The Living by the Relics of the Dead:  
My Life's wrapped up in thine, that Forfeited,  
My Dearest Mars, I'm utterly undone;  
But that Secured, two are Preserved in one.  
With Posthumous Respects, and Reverence  
To the consuming Body, I'll Dispense,  
Of my Deceased Husband, to the end,  
I may Enjoy my Living, Loving Friend.  
Come, we'll his Face with Dirt and Blood besmear,  
And by this Artifice deceive his near  
Friends and Relations; this Disguise will do't  
Effectually, with Death's Disguise to boot;  
we'll also break his Arms and Legs, that we  
May bid Defiance to Discovery,  
And he may, in the general, common Vogue,  
Want no Marks of Resemblance in the Rogue.  
If bold Offenders dare thus (as you see)  
By an unheard of Crime, Tomb-Burglary,  
violate Tombs, and their dead Guests deface,  
How can the Grave be Termed a Resting place?  
This she proposed; and Jointly he and she  
Trussed up her Husband, left him there to be  
A Spectacle to all that go, or come,  
Of Widowed Love the swinging Pendulum.  
This Amorous Trick being played, they Trudge away  
To his Obscure Quarters (for Delay  
Breeds Danger) to Consult there and Advise  
About their safety, fearless of surprise,  
And to Enjoy in that Poor Hoveled state  
The Foul Embraces of their hasty Fate,  
Melting in Lust, till that, each Morn the Sun  
Spy Mars and Venus in Conjunction.  
Exit Ephesian, Enter on the Stage  
Cimmerian Lady, (Wonders of their Age)  
Each proved a Wealthy, Witty, Pretty Bride,  
And faith, 'tis pity, something else beside.  
A Brace of Bucsom Wives, Bonny and Blithe,  
Whose Acts, as long as Time does bear a Scythe,  
Or Death a Dart, ne'er shall, by my Consent,  
Want, to their shame, a Lasting Monument.  
Both were Intrigued in Love at the first sight,  
And with a private Sentinel, in spite  
Of Fate and Fortune, so that we may grant,  
Venus will still cleave to her Old Gallant.  
On the Cimmerian Confines lived, of late,  
A Gentlewoman of a Vast Estate,  
Of shape far more Exact in every Part,  
Than Statu formed by Famed Alberti's Art:  
Of Features, much more sweet and Delicate,  
Than was the Paphian Queen; Immaculate,  
As Clear at first in Reputation  
As th' Hunting Goddess was; and Wife to one  
By Usury Rich, by Riches Eminent,  
With him Enjoyed the Pleasures and Content  
Of Conjugal Fidelity and Love,  
And scorned the Lewd Caresses of a Jove:  
But ah! how subject unto Change we find  
The Mutable Affections of the Mind!  
For she that so Obsequious and Chaste,  
To her Dear Consort was, longs now to Taste  
Of the Forbidden Fruit, by Lust being Led,  
And Hurried on, Nauseat's the Marriagebed.  
For she by chance darting a wanton Look  
At a young Soldier bathing in a Brook,  
Weaponed she thought with an Impetuous Nerve,  
That scorned a Disappointment, fit to Serve  
In Venus' Wars, a Proper, Lusty Stallion,  
Tho in good sooth, a poor Tatterdemalion;  
At which the Winged Bow-boy draws his Dart,  
And with a Golden Shaft, soon Wounds her Heart.  
The Husband at her Coldness did Admire,  
And sudden Change; but mildly did Inquire  
Into the Cause; she, like a Crafty Dame,  
Dissembled, and Concealed from him her Flame,  
With showers of Tears endeavouring to suppress  
Love's Calenture, but all without Success,  
All his Endearments proved but in vain,  
And Courtship did but heighten her Disdain:  
This Gloomy Humour made her lose the Grace,  
And Charming Air of her Admired Face;  
The Roses in her Cheeks and Colour dies,  
This dulled the Lustre of her Sparkling Eyes:  
Add to these Dreadful Symptoms, Restless Nights,  
Broken Discourses, Shunning of Delights,  
Her Love of Solitude, sudden Start too,  
And forced Sighs, with swooning Fits, that do  
Waste and Consume the Spirits, Health Decay,  
And Wounded Hearts, spite of themselves Betray.  
Thus scorched with Love no wonder if that He  
Became Confirmed in his Jealousy,  
Which from her he obscured, as well as she  
Concealed her Love from him, most subtilely;  
But to Resist Love is as hard a Task,  
As 'tis that Passion to Disguise, or Mask;  
Th' Impatient Matron now her Art will try,  
She must Enjoy her Paramour, or Dy.  
Thus without farther Council, or Delay,  
Being Winged with Love, she nimbly trips away  
TO a Messageur d' Amour, so called abroad;  
But in Plain, Honest, Downright English, Bawd;  
And soon Engageth her by Silver-Charms,  
To go Ambassadress to th' Man of Arms,  
And Treat with him concerning a Firm Ligue  
Of Love, a Pretty Amorous Intrigue;  
And that a private Interview might be,  
Upon the first fair Opportunity.  
The Blunt, Rough, Son of Mars did soon Assent  
To this Proposal without Compliment.  
The watchful Usurer deprived of Rest,  
His Discomposed Fancy did suggest  
Thousands of Plots and Stratagems of Wit,  
And this most hopeful, as he thinks, may Hit:  
He instantly does preparation make  
For a Long Journey, he pretends to take,  
And at the sad Farewell both seem to grieve;  
His Dear Fidessa, as you may believe,  
Counterfeits Sorrow too, with feigned Fears,  
Of his Mishap, and Artificial Tears,  
Moistens her parting Kisses; but when he  
Departed ( Aurora blushed) than she  
Thought now, that the Propitious time drew near,  
Wherein she might Enjoy her Dearest Dear;  
So that with Lust Inflamed, and all on fire  
To Crown with solid Pleasures her Desire,  
Her Running Quean she does Commissionate,  
T' acquaint her Lover with the Fortunate  
Departure of her Husband, and that he  
Might meet with Freedom, and security.  
Strait was the Message by this Hackny-Jade  
Delivered, and an Assignation made,  
That when Tired Sol had run his full Career,  
And's Empire in the upper Hemisphere  
Resigned to Night, he at a Postern might  
Have free Admission to his stolen Delight;  
And lest through too much Zeal her Lover's Flame  
Might cool at first, she, like a Prudent Dame,  
Prepared a Rich Collation, Generous Wine,  
Conserves, Provocatives, a Good Design  
To carry on the work: Nay farther she  
Contrived the whole Affair so Craftily;  
And sent her Chamber Maid (the only Spy  
Appointed o'er her, through the Jealousy,  
Of her Fond Husband) to a Wedding, there  
Presuming, that the Wench would have a share  
In throwing of the Stocking at the Bride,  
And several other pretty Tricks beside,  
Which would retard her sudden coming home.  
At length th' appointed Hour being come,  
The Punctual Soldier, directed before,  
Advanceth silently to the Backdoor:  
But finding it close shut, he straightway fell  
To th' posture of a Careful Sentinel:  
Her Husband no les Vigilant, who lay  
At a Friend's House Concealed, returned this way,  
And spied the Nightwalker, but silently  
Enters the House, and does as soon espy  
His Wife in a most Rich, Night Linnen-Dres,  
At which the wit of Man cannot express  
How he inflamed with Rage about did Glare,  
And just, like Caesar's Ghost, on Brutus Stare.  
But entering her Bedchamber there does find  
(Enuf to Discompose a Quiet Mind,)  
The Dressing-Table with Delicates new spread,  
Clean Sheets, and Perfumed Pillows on the Bed;  
Enraged he without uttering one word  
Strips her stark naked, (which must needs afford  
A Pleasant Sight, to see her Snow white Skin;  
Had any other there Spectators been)  
And carrying her down to the Porch, we find,  
He did her Arms unto a Pillar bind:  
So in this Posture, you might truly say,  
That you did see the Fair Andromeda,  
A second time to a Rock Naked Chained,  
Where she per force contentedly remained,  
Worthy another Perseus for to free  
(Love and Enjoy) her from that Tyranny.  
With passion Drunk th' Us'rer to bed doth reel,  
Whilst in the int'rim our Man of Steel,  
He, Soldierlike, perdu i'th' open Air  
In great Distraction, and as great Despair;  
Belated and Benighted walks alone,  
And does his Hopes thus Frustrated Bemoan,  
Until he heard the Dolsom Midnight Chime,  
In Expectation of th' Appointed Time;  
Watching, as fast shut up, the Lady's Door,  
As Janus Temple in the Days of yore,  
And times of Peace, at length he marched away  
To his she-Officer, Tired with Delay  
And puts up his Complaint to Her, which she  
No sooner heard; but starts up instantly,  
Covers with a lose Vest her Aged shame,  
And Trots with him to the Italian Dame.  
Arrived she bids him wait, not draw too near,  
'Til she Informed him that the Coast was Clear;  
No sooner Entered, but as soon Amazed,  
She frighted, on the Living Statu Gazed;  
Recovered of her Consternation,  
The Message was delivered, whereupon  
The Lady finding that the Chains of Love,  
To her did more Intolerable prove,  
Then those of Jealousy, endowed with Wit  
Inferior to her Beauty not a whit;  
Wheadles this Engineer of Lust, tho' old,  
To disengage her Arms from the too Cold  
Embraces of the Pillar; then Assails  
The Easy Bawd, and she as soon prevails  
In her place to be bound, only while she,  
To give Assurance of her Constancy,  
Hastens to her Gallant; a Daring Deed!  
For one so late Surprised, so lately Freed,  
Nay not yet freed, from future Afterclaps  
Of Torments, nay of Death itself, perhaps;  
Rashly to throw herself without Demur  
Into the Arms of her Adulterer,  
And Destiny itself Force to give way,  
To her desired Lust without Delay.  
The first Banquet of Kisses o'er, than he  
Did his Devoir to her effectually,  
Sans Compliment; for verify he would  
Her good opinion of his parts as Good.  
The poor Cornuto, now without Offence,  
I think, we may him call, having his fence  
Looked up with Sleep, that Dreamed, with strange Surprise  
He saw his Wife her Honour Sacrifice,  
Himself turned shaggy satire too, whilst he,  
Revenged the Contumelious Injury.  
Th' enraged Malbecco leaps out of his Bed,  
Runs to the Window, with an Aching Head,  
Calls on his Consort, whose Secured Bail  
Heard all, and Trembled for to hear him Rail;  
And all the while, Poor Wretch, as silent was,  
As the Mute Pupils of Pythagoras,  
During their first Novitiat; but he  
Enraged at this Contempt most furiously  
Snatched up a Razor, and away does fly  
it'h ' very Face of his Wife's Deputy,  
And with a single, and well guided Slash  
Cuts off her Nose, and leaves a Fatal Gash;  
But the now Noseless Bawd still underwent,  
With more than Spartan Patience and Content  
These Torments, with a Courage Brave and Bold.  
The Nose Schismatical was scarcely cold;  
When his Faustina, sore against his will,  
Had finished her first Trial of Skill  
With her stout Gladiator, and, Dear Heart,  
Did from him with a thousand Kisses Part.  
Returned, she understood how Matters went,  
And her Affliction highly did Resent,  
Endeavoured with soft Language to Assuage  
Her Grief, and did by promises Engage,  
To get her made, let Fortune do her worst,  
A Nose of better Metal than the first.  
This Mollified the Bawd, expelled her Fears,  
Who would have sold for Money Eyes, and Ears,  
Into the Bargain. Thus the Bawd at last.  
Loosed from the Pillar, bound the Matron fast,  
(And to a Surgeon strait away she goes  
With the Remainder of her Mangled Nose)  
She both a Woman, and in Love, in fine  
Does thus Contrive her Fortunate Design,  
Counterfeits an Appeal unto the Moon,  
For her Protection and Redress, as soon,  
As she did clear and visible appear  
Above the verge of our Hemisphere,  
She Invocats her Help, and makes her Moon,  
By Supplcation, in a Whining Tone,  
Mixed with a Sigh, or two; and then she feigns  
A Dialogue with Phoebe, and Complains,  
With Elevated voice, as if that she  
Had Herd her Prayer 'gainst his Tyranny,  
This sad Harangue soon reached the Cuckold's Ears,  
Alarmed all his Faculties, with Fears  
And Grief Perplexed, suddenly he risen  
Viewed his Wife's Face, looked for her Mangled Nose,  
But found all perfect, knew this could not be,  
But by the Power of some Deity;  
Having Committed such a Bloody Act,  
He sunk down at the Horror of the Fact,  
Begs Pardon first of Heaven, than his Wife;  
With Promises of a Reformed Life,  
(Too wise to be Inexorable) she  
Like a Good Soul grants it most Graciously.  
Then he her Liberty does straight restore,  
With Solemn Vows ne'er to afflict her more.  
Kissed her all o'er, and now to Bed they're gone  
To Seal this Reconciliation.  
The Witty Matron, blessed be th' God of Love,  
A Pattern of Pure Charity did prove  
Thus she recovered three things in the close,  
Her Husband's Love, her Honour, and her Nose.  
Thus the Cimmerian Dame came off with store  
Of Wit: I've done, read but one Story more.  
The Roman Matron, that Salacious Dame,  
(Who Burned with Inextinguishable Flame)  
T'Allay her Lust, Incognita, did use  
For to frequent i'th' Night the Common Stews,  
And Challenge the best metald Stoutest Crack,  
That in Bed-skufles  knew strength of Back,  
To a Venereal Skirmish of them two,  
In their Repeated Lust, which should outdo.  
The Match thus Fairly made, to work they go,  
And grapple with the Amicable Fo:  
But it fell out, that the whole Remnant-store  
Of Stock exhausted was, (who long before  
As common as a Barber's Chair had been,  
No sooner one out, but another in)  
Flags in the Hot Pursuit, does fairly yield,  
And slily without Murmuring quits the Field.  
But now the Royal Harlot, who held out  
Twice twelve Renconters, and a single Bout,  
Like an Imperial Whore, at last she cried,  
I'm tired with Men, but yet not satisfied.  
The Bearded Shaggy Brute, that's known to be  
Proverbial for his Stench and Lechery,  
Had he but Speech and Reason would Exclaim  
Against such Matchless Lust, and Blush for Shame.  
To prove that Woman's but a waggish slave,  
Whose Womb's insatiable, like the Grave;  
A Jointed Baby, made up of fine Dust,  
Who rather than once Disappoint her Lust,  
Her Body Basely will expose to Sale,  
And, like a wanton Cat, play with her Tail.  
Read this old Fable, call it what you will,  
The Moral Application holds good still.  
The Thunderer once, at a Noble Treat,  
Resolved to make his Jollity Complete,  
And steep all Cares in Nectar, which did Swim  
In Goblets, till the Foam' orelooked the Brim;  
He in the Heat of Healths, and Raillery,  
Does Briskly thus Accost his Queen, says He,  
In short, great Consort, this is the Debate,  
In Amorous Sports, Woman's Insatiate,  
Has the most Ravishing, and heightened Pleasure,  
Is Lecherous it'h Act beyond all measure:  
This she denys. Tiresias, who had Tried,  
Both the Delights of Bridegroom, and of Bride,  
Must end the Difference, who once did find  
Two close Engendering Serpents, and unbind  
Their Coiling with one single stroke Srange Fate!  
And so the Man became a Woman strait.  
Seven Winters thus he lived and passed complete,  
But in the Eight the same he did remeet,  
And said, if you can change Man's Nature so,  
I will Experiment the other Blo,  
Then struck, away they ran, and as soon then  
Was Metamorphosed to a Man again.  
He, chosen to Decide the Difference,  
Confirms Jove's words, which highly did Incense  
The Angry Juno, who to wreak her spite,  
Muffled his Eyes in one Eternal Night.  
The God, who, what was done, could not Undo,  
His Intellect with Fates that should ensue  
Inspired, and did Gratefully supply,  
His Body's Eyesight with a Mental Ey.  
But soft, my Muse, why so Unnatural,  
Thus to Requite your Mother's Milk with Gal  
And that weak, Tender Sex with Crimes o'erload:  
Well! since 'tis so, I'll sing a Palinode.  
Woman is Stayed, yes if Confined at Home,  
There, or elsewhere, her Mind does ever Rome.  
She's , and deserves to be Chased, 'tis True,  
Quite through the City, if she had her Due.  
She's Constant, that's allowed, but how! you see,  
She's only Constant in Inconstancy.  
She's Patiented too, and yet (observe withal)  
She has not Phlegm enough t' Allay her Gall.  
She's Beautiful, there you have hit it, so  
Sodom's fair Apples make a Glorious Sho,  
And Tempt the Ey to Gaze, but touched, I fear,  
Nothing but Rottenness will then appear;  
She's Witty, Ay! a most Prodigious Wit,  
That Plots more Mischief than a Jesuit.  
She's Politic, therein she does Excel  
The Florentin, Pope, Belzebub, and Hell,  
She is a Helper too; who in Conclusion,  
Helped all Mankind unto their own Confusion.  
Ih fine, I Think she's now well understood,  
She's all, she's any thing, but what is Good.  
To her own Sex Deceitful; True to none,  
What, neither Man nor Woman? no, not one.  
Barbarous to Foes, Injurious to her Friend;  
Most False to all Mankind, and there's an END.   

A satire AGAINST THE Popish-Clergy.  
WHat Chaos is it? What Extravagance  
Does Discompose the Spirit of our France?  
What Hellish Fiend, 'mongst us such Change hath sent,  
And Novelty in all our Government?  
We Nullify, Establish, Make, Unmake;  
Nothing's Entire, what e'er we undertake;  
Retrench, and then Resaint our Saints, Fine Sport!  
We Plead i'th' Hall, and Feast it at the Court:  
The Reformation Reformed should be,  
The Ancient Laws and ours Disagree,  
So Changed in Form, they are not understood,  
O, that the Clergy too Reform they would!  
That them of half their Tithes they'd Dispossess,  
Then Reformation would Great Crimes Redress,  
Their Large Revenues Souls destroy good store,  
And the Rich Priests Complain still, they are Poor.  
Why should they who th' Apostles Imitate,  
Then other Men have ten times more Estate?  
We ought to Regular this Enormity,  
And Teach our Priests to Live more sparingly.  
Mitres and Crosiers only we do meet,  
Rattling in stately Coaches through the street.  
They, on a Solemn Day, forget, alas!  
That God himself road Meekly on an Ass!  
They talk of France and her great Taxes blame,  
Which the World Murmur's at, and Cries out shame;  
They are no Grievance, if you them Compare  
With the bad Laws by Priests made ev'ry where.  
All People are Church-Dettors born, and you  
Must pay for Christening, and for Burial too.  
With one Fatal Accord all Priests alive,  
In fine, by Life and Death know how to thrive.  
A Good state, that affords a Livelihood  
By Muttering o'er four Leaves ununderstood,  
And Mumbling Prayers three, or four a day,  
Thereby their Household Charges do Defray.  
What a Good Breviary have we then?  
A Priest is still the Happiest of Men.  
Marry! a Licence must be bought for you;  
Pay for them, and the Priest will sell you two.  
One Mite short, and you're Disappointed, see,  
If this be not, what's a Monopoly?  
Which some at Paris, of the Holy Fry  
On this Grand Sacrament put Injuriously.  
Will you the Tenor have Rung out by us?  
One of those Harpies will Accost you thus.  
Never Monopoly to this Pitch came;  
You, that are Ringers, don't you Blush for Shame?  
How these Imposts disgrace you! and may well,  
To make us pay for the sound of a Bel.  
Then all Ring out, and for 5 French Crowns you  
Shall have them Ring, and Ring the longer too;  
A Base, Inhuman Sexton, t' whom you can  
Wish no worse Plague, then see a Living Man;  
Th' Il-boding Raven on the Deed does Prey,  
And Buys, and Sells Graves in a Trading way;  
Choose out your ground for Burial, he'll say;  
The nearer to the Choir, the more you Pay:  
So much for Ground, and the High Altar; who  
Did such an Imposition ever know?  
And what's to nature's Law more Opposite,  
Then Sel to th' Deed their own Sepulchral Right?  
I willingly with other Vails Dispense,  
Whereby Closefisted Priests scrape up the Pence.  
I am a Papist, and ha' no Design  
Their Livesto Censure, who should Censure mine:  
've Reason, I believe, for what they do,  
And all their Patrons Work strange Cures too.  
They with Wax Tapers each Disease can Cure,  
If made of Virgin-wax, you may be sure;  
He that's Uncured, 'tis, 'cause his Faith's but small,  
But I, because I see't, believe it all,  
Into those Mysteries Il' never Pry,  
My Priest himself says it, and so must I.  
I've Faith; if he does Il, on his own Head  
'Twil fall; But Buying Licenses I Dred;  
And that Church-ornaments for Sacred Use,  
Should, like Shop-wares, be Rated, Grand Abuse!  
If, at your Funeral, you'll the Richest have;  
For such an Ornament so much they Crave:  
If Silver Utensils; The Officer  
Asks, whether great, or small you do Prefer?  
The Price is different; so much 'twil Cost,  
Bring Ready Money, or your labour's lost.  
Churchmen ne'er Trust a Mite, but at you spurn,  
If poor the wooden Cross must serve your Turn.  
But hold your peace, 'tis very Dangerous  
To talk of Priests, and talk Il of them thus:  
They're no fit Subject for Satyric Style,  
Muse, find some other out, to make thee Smile.  
FINIS.