The Ladies Answer TO THAT Busybody, Who wrote the Life and Death of DU VALL.  

I'll tell thee senseless Fool, who e'er thou be,  
Thou art a Thief, by far more base than he:  
Du Vall a little Wealth did only take,  
Which they who lost it, got perchance by Cheat.  
Wealth, which poor Mortals heap they ne'er so fast,  
Pitiless Death will take them from at last.  
But, Thou unworthy to be called a Man,  
Rather some Beast, or monstrous African,  
Would from our Ladies that Bright Honour have,  
Which outlives Us, and triumphs o'er the Grave.  
Honour's a Thing too Sacred and Divine,  
Once to be touched by such rude Hands as thine.  
How darest thou blame such mild and generous Tears,  
Or strive to blast their Pity with thy Jeers?  
If they were sorry, 'twas not that their Thoughts  
Approved his Crimes, or justified his Faults;  
Yet so much Valour as the Prisoner had,  
And so much Youth, might make a Tiger sad.  
The greatest Lords that England now can vaunt,  
Pitied him too, and begged his pardons grant:  
But them thou darest not mention, 'tis thy fear  
Their Swords should find thee out for all thy care;  
Only poor Ladies, that have no defence,  
Nothing to guard them, but their Innocence.  
These thou pickest out, their Arms are in their Eyes,  
And Love (thou knowst) disdains so small a Prize;  
Which makes thee bold, and glad to venture where  
Thou thinkest there is not the least room for fear.  
This shows thy Narrow Soul, thy Little Merit;  
This shows thou art all Gall, and hast no Spirit.  
Suppose 'twere true, that any Lady here  
For the poor Criminal did shed a Tear;  
Those for whose Beauty's we were wont to die,  
we'd now adore for their Humanity;  
And their relenting Hearts should bear no more  
Those Marble Names their vigour got before,  
I to thy cost would soon defend their Fame,  
But Coward as thou art, thou hidest thy Name.  
Coward indeed! who canst employ thy Pen  
Only against Weak Women, and Dead Men.   
El. C.   

Printed in the Year MDCLXX.