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He had made himself drunk with the juice of the grape,
And got a good clap, but committed no rape.

The Dean and his landlord, 'a jolly comrade,

Resolv’d for a fortnight to swim in delight ;
For why, they had both been brought up to the

Of drinking all day, and of whoring all night.
His landlord was ready his Deanship to ape
Io ev'ry debauch, but committing a rape. 30

This Protestant zealot, this English divine,

In church and in state was of principles sound;
Was truer than Steele to the Hanover line,

And griey'd that a Tory should live above ground: Shall a subject so loyal be hang'd by the nape For no other crime, but committing a rape ?

VII. By old Popish canons, as wise men have penn'd 'em,

Each prieft had a concubine, jure ecclefia ; Who'd be Dean of Fernes without a commendam?

And precedents we can produce, if it please ye: 40 Then why should the Dean, when whores are so

cheap, Be put to the peril and toil of a rape ?

VIII. If Fortune should please but to take such a crotchet, (To thee I apply, great Smedley's fucceffor), To give thee lawn sleeves, a mitre and rotchet, 45

Whom wouldst thou resemble ? I leave thee a guef


fer ;

But I only behold thee in Atherton's * shape,
For sodomy hang'd, as thou for a rape.

* A bishop of Waterford, sent from England a hundred ago.


Ah! dost thou not envy the brave Coľnel Charters

Condemn'd for thy crime at threescore and ten ? 50 To hang him all England would lend him their

garters; Yet he lives, and is ready to ravish again. 'Then throttle thyself with an ell of strong tape, For thou hast-not a groat to atone for a rape.

X. The Dean he was vex'd, that his whores were so willing:

55 He long'd for a girl that would struggle and squall; He ravilh'd her fairly, and fav'd a good shilling,

But here was to pay the dev'l and all.
His trouble and sorrows now come in a heap,
Ana hang'd he must be for committing a rape.

If maidens are ravilh'd, it is their own choice ;

Why are they fo wilful to struggle with men?
If they would but lie quiet, and Aifle their voice,

No devil nor dean could ravish 'em then;
Nor would there be need of a strong hempen cape 65
Ty'd round the Dean's neck for committing a rape.

Our church and our state dear England maintains,

For which all true Protestant hearts should be glad ; She sends us our bishops, and judges, and deans ;

And better would give us, if better she had. 70 But, Lord, how the rabble will starve and will gape, When the good English Dean is hang'd up for a rape!


† See above p. 214.



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Written in the year 1730.
FIVE hours (and who can do it less in ?)

By haughty Cælia spent in dressing;
The goddess from her chamber issues,
Array'd in lace, brocades, and tissues,
Strephon, who found the room was void,
And Betty otherwise employd,
Stole in, and took a strict survey
Of all the litter as it lay :
Whereof, to make the matter clear,
An inventory follows here.

AND, first, a dirty fmock appear'd,
Beneath the arm-pits well befmeard,
Strephon, the rogue, display'd it wide,
And turn'd it round on ev'ry fide :
In such a case few words are best,
And Strephon bids us guess the rest ;
But swears, how damnably the men lie
In calling Cælia sweet and cleanly.

Now liften, while he next produces
The various combs for various uses;
Filld up with dist so closely fixt,
No brush could force a way betwixt;

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No charge has been more frequently brought against the Deans or indeed more generally admitted, than that of coarie indelicacy, of which this poem is always produced as an instance. Here then it is but justice to remark, that whenever he offends against delicacy, he teaches it; he fimulates the mind to sensibility, to correct the faults of habitual negligence; as physicians, to cure a lethargy, have recourse to a blister. And tho' it may reasonably be fupposed, chat few English ladies leave such a dressing room as Cælia's, yet many may have given fufficient cause for reminding them, that very soon after desire has been gratified, the utmost dedicacy becomes necessary to prevent disgult. See a defence of this poem in vol. iv. p. 318. Hawkes,

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A paste of composition rare,
Sweat, dandriff, powder, lead, and hair.
A forehead-cloth, with oil upon't,
To smooth the wrinkles on her front:
Here allum-flower to stop the steams
Exhald from four unfav'ry streams :
There night-gloves made of Tripsey's hide,
Bequeath'd by Tripfey when she dy'd;
With puppy-water beauty's help,
Distilld from Tripsey's darling whelp.
Here galley-pots and vials plac'd,
Some fillid with washes, some with paste;
Some with pomatums, paints, and flops,
And ointments good for fcabby chaps.
Hard by a filthy bason stands,
Fould with the scouring of her hands;
The bason takes whatever comes,
The scrapings from her teeth and gums,
A nasty compound of all hues,
For here the spits and here she spues.

But Oh! it turn'd poor Strephon's bowels,
When he beheld and smelt the towels,
Begumm'd, bematter'd, and beslim'd,
With dirt and sweat, and ear-wax grim'd.
No object Strephon's eye escapes ;
Here petticoats in frowzy heaps ;
Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot,
All varnish'd o'er with snuff and snot,
The stockings why Mould I expose,
Stain'd with the moisture of her toes;
Or greasy coifs, or pinners reeking,
Which Cælia Nept at leatt a week in?
A pair of tweezers next he found,
To pluck her brows in arches round;
Or hairs that sink the forehead low,
Or on her chin like bristles











The virtues we must not let pass
Of Cælia's magnifying glass ;
When frighted Strephon cast his eye on't,
It shew'd the visage of a giant:
A glafs that can to fight disclose
The smallest worm in Cælia's nose,
And faithfully direct her nail
To squeeze it out from head to tail;
For catch it nicely by the head,
It must come out, alive or dead.

Why, Strephon, will you tell the rest ;
And must you needs describe the cheft?
That careless wench! no creature warn her
To move it out from yonder corner;
But leave it ftanding full in fight,
For you to exercise your fpite ?
In vain the workman shew'd his wit,
With rings and hinges counterfeit,
To make it seem in this disguise
A cabinet to vulgar eyes,
Which Strephon ventur'd to look in,
Refolu'd to go

throthick and thin.
He lifts the lid : there needs no more,
He smelt it all the time before.

As, from within Pandora's box,
When Epimetheus op'd the locks,
A sudden universal crew
Of human evils upward flew;
He still was comforted to find
That hope at last remain'd behind :
So Strephon lifting up the lid,
To view what in the chest was hid,

flew from out the vent;
But Strephon, cautious, never meant
The bottom of the pan to grope,
And foul his hands in search of hope.

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The vapours

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