An Invective against the Pride of women.  

[1]  
Will womens' vanities never have end?  
Alas! what is the matter?  
Shall Poets all their Spirits spend,  
And Women never the better!  
Will Bagnols' Ballad hath done no good,  
To the Head that's bid in the Taffat`y-hood,  
Which makes the virtuous chew the cud,  
And me, till now, their debtor.   

[2]  
I once resolved to be blind,  
And ne'er put Pen to sheet,  
Though all the race of womankind  
Were mad, I would not see't.  
Yet now my heart is so big, it struts;  
That hold I cannot for my guts,  
But with as much ease as Hens cracks Nuts,  
My lines, and numbers meet.   

[3]  
And first I will begin to touch,  
Upon their daubing Paint;  
Their Sin that way is grown so much  
It makes my Muse prove faint:  
For when they are got into a new Suit,  
They look as if they'd straight go to't,  
The devil's in't, and's Dam to boot,  
'Twould anger any Saint.   

[4]  
Their faces are bespread and peec'd,  
With several sorts of patches,  
As if some Cat their skins had fleeced,  
With Stars, halfmoons, and natches:  
Prodigious Signs, and Invocations,  
And Meteors of such dreadful fashions,  
Booker hath no such Prognostications,  
Oh! out upon them wretches.   

[5]  
With these they are disfigured so,  
They look as wild as Elves;  
Their Husbands scarce their Wives can know,  
Nor they sometimes themselves:  
And every morning feed their chops,  
With Candles, Broths, and Hony-sops,  
And lap it up as thick as Hops,  
Ne'er think on him that delves.   

[6]  
Their soaring Thoughts to Books advance,  
'Tis odds, that may undo 'em;  
For ever since Dame Eve's mischance,  
That villainous itch sticks to 'em:  
And if they get but a little smack,  
They talk, as if they nought did lack,  
Of Sidney, Drayton, and Balzaack,  
'Twould weary a man to woo 'um.   

[7]  
Sometime I think them quite subdued,  
They let me use such freedom;  
And by and by they call me rude,  
Then such a word strikes me dumb:  
They are fickle and shy, God save 'em,  
A man can never tell where to have 'em;  
I wish we were all resolved to leave 'em,  
Till we hereafter need 'um.   

[8]  
Their kind Behaviour is a trap,  
For men, wherein to catch 'em,  
With sugared words they lie and snap,  
But I'll be sure to watch 'em:  
For if once with many a quaint device,  
They get you into fool's paradise,  
They'll laugh, and leave you in a trice;  
The Fiend will one day fetch 'um.   

[9]  
A Siren once had got a Drone,  
And thus began to chatter,  
Sweetheart, quoth she, I am thine own;  
But there was no such matter:  
For when he thought her as sure as a Gun,  
She set up her tail, and a way she run,  
As if she would have outstripped the Sun,  
The Devil could never have sat her.   

[10]  
Or if some Women mean, good sooth,  
And promise lawful Marriage,  
'Tis ten to one she hath ne'er a tooth,  
And then poor men must forage:  
Who sure is Wed, is sped with a wanion,  
He may weep without the help of an onion,  
He's an Ox, or an Ass, or a slabberdegullion,  
That woos, and doth not barr-age.   

[11]  
Sometimes they in the water lurk,  
Like Fish with silver fins,  
And then I wish I were the Turk,  
And they my concubines.  
But now I'll tell you truth without erring,  
They are neither Fish, Flesh, nor good red Herring;  
And wheresoever you find them stirring,  
They'll put you in mind of your Sins.   

[12]  
Our Zealous Lecturers often Preach,  
And Homilies do expound;  
But Women, as if they were out of their reach, persever, and stand their ground:  
There's not one among ten, but she's Sermon proof,  
You may Preach as well to the Wall, or Roof,  
Their Hearts are as hard as a horse's hoof,  
And as hollow, but not so sound.   

[13]  
And when do you think this gear will mend,  
And come to a better pass?  
Indeed, I think, it will never have end:  
What, never! Oh out alas:  
They hold such wicked Councils between 'em,  
We can do little but make Ballads again 'em;  
Ten thousand Furies, I think, is in 'em:  
Is not this a pitiful Case?   

[14]  
I think it would not do amiss,  
To put them in a Play;  
There's matter, and enough, I wis,  
And I'll have the Second day.  
Where some shall be habited like unto Pages,  
The rest shall go as they are Baggages;  
He that sets them o' work, will pay them their wages,  
Troth that's the only way.   

[15]  
And when I have brought them on the Stage,  
All sorts of People among;  
I'll there expose them like Birds in a Cage,  
To be gazed on in the midst of the throng:  
Nay now I have got them into my clutches,  
Although you may think that this overmuch is,  
I'll favour neither Lady nor Duchess,  
They are no more to me than they that go on crutches,  
I have made this Staff too long.   

[16]  
Some virtuous Wives abroad are seen,  
Who give them Caution ample,  
But they, as if they had never been,  
On all good Precepts trample:  
But here is the spite, it would anger a stone,  
For a Woman to go to Heaven alone;  
What is bred in the Flesh, will ne'er out of the Bone,  
They'll not amend by example.