TO THE PRAISE OF M RS. CELLIER The Popish Midwife:  
ON HER IN COMPARABLE BOOK.  
MADAM,  

THe brightest Glory of your Sex, and Age,  
Than Popess Joan more Fair, than Popess Joan more sage,  
We hoped, if Catholics success had found,  
To see your head with Triple-mitre crowned;  
That Head, which bravest Acts can first invent,  
Then, if miscarried, prove 'em never meant:  
You're skilled, what Nature's Fabric is below.  
And all the secret Arts of Gropeing know,  
Sex's defect with Ddo can supply,  
And so escape the famed Chair Porphury.  
But though success have failed your great Deserts,  
The world admires your Ladyship's Great Parts:  
Rome once adored Lucina's Deity,  
But now Her Midwife-Goddess you shall be,  
To help the Pope's abortions, and by Merit  
Deliver Nephews of the Flesh, or Spirit.  
You taught the Judges to interpret Laws,  
Showed Sergeant Maynard how to plead a Cause,  
You turned, and wound, and Rogued 'em at your will,  
'Twas Trial not of Life and Death, but Skill.  
What though you had no Cash to bribe the 
* She maliciously suggests (though against her own Interest) the Jury corrupt, when all knew 'twas neither her own Innocence, nor their disintegrity, but mere defect of Evidence brought her off this time.  Jury?  
They'd fell their Consciences on Trust: Security  
not expected now for such small ware;  
Oaths are as cheap as Pins at Bartholmew-Fair.  
Besides, you'll give their Babes an easy Birth,  
Or, if themselves are costive, help it forth:  
For one good turn we know requires another,  
As Right hand scratches Left its younger Brother.  
Your Witnesses would swear against the King,  
And ' 'gainst the Law; they'd swear like any thing.  
Sweet Innocence! what Powerful charms it has  
It works more Miracles, than Cross, or Mass,  
As easily turns all to Catholic  
As Apes shape Whelps with Beautifying Lick;   

It makes men swear the Compass Ten times o'er,  
Then makes 'em swear, they never swore before:  
This is the force of Innocence; and ne'er yet  
Did any miss, that sinned on Tick of Merit.   

Heretical Apostate Dangerfield!  
Worst of Mankind! whom hast thou thus beguiled!  
Thou wert a hopeful, serviceable man,  
But now art turned White Devil of Japan.  
Pray tell me, where's thy Conscience? or why  
Must Heretic Truth discover Sacred Lie?  
Show your Indulgence, Sacrilegious slave!  
May you speak Truth, unless the Pope gives leave?  
You credited? Incorrigible Sot!  
Prove you were Loyal first, and knew no Plot.   

Thus your Book, Madam, has convinced the Nation,  
And is one clear, entire Demonstration:  
It shows the Meal-Tub-Plot's an errand cheat l  
For Tub is made of Wood, and meal of Wheat.   

The cause wants no such Whifflers as T. G. is,  
You must defend it, not such clods as He is;  
For no man yet could e'er withstand the Dint,  
And cogency of Female Argument.   

Diva Obstretrix-O! hear the prayers  
Of all the Jesuits and all the Friars!  
Some Saints we've known forget us when they be gone  
To thee on Earth we make our early moan.   

Then pity us: exert thy Power  
To save us in this dangerous Hour.  
Thou hast to Life brought many men,  
Ah! Bring the Plot to Life again.    

LONDON, Printed for Walter Davis in Amen-Corner, MDCLXXX.