Stella, for once you reason wrong;
For, fhou'd this ferment laft too long,
By time fubfiding, you may find
Nothing but acid left behind:
From paffion you may then be freed,
When peevishness and fpleen fucceed.
Say, Stella, when you copy next,
Will you keep ftrictly to the text?
Dare you let thefe reproaches ftand,
And to your failing set
your hand?
Or, if these lines your anger fire,
Shall they in bafer flames expire?
Whene'er they burn, if burn they must,
They'll prove my accusation just.
Written in 1728.
IT was a moft unfriendly part
In you, who ought to know my heart, So well acquainted with my zeal For all the female common-weal
To pitch on me, of all mankind,
Against the sex to write a fatire,
And brand me for a woman-hater?
On me, who think them all fo fair,
They rival Venus to a hair;
Their virtues never ceas'd to fing,
Since first I learn'd to tune a string?
Methinks, I hear the ladies cry,
Will he his character belye?
Muft never our misfortunes end?
And have we loft our only friend?
Ah, lovely nymphs, remove your fears,
No more let fall thofe precious tears.
Sooner fhall, etc.
[Here feveral verfes are omitted.]
The hound be hunted by the hare,
Than I turn rebel to the fair.
'Twas you engag'd me firft to write, Then gave the fubject out of spite: The journal of a modern dame Is by my promise what you claim. My word is paft, I must submit And yet perhaps you may be bit. I but tranfcribe; for not a line Of all the fatire fhall be mine. Q3
Compell'd by you to tag in rhymes
The common flanders of the times,
Of modern times, the guilt is yours,
And me my innocence fecures.
Unwilling mufe, begin thy lay,
The annals of a female day.
By nature turn'd to play the rake well,
(As we shall fhew you in the fequel)
The modern dame is wak'd by noon,
(Some authors fay not quite fo foon)
Because, though fore against her will,
She fat all night up at Quadrille.
She ftretches, gapes, unglues her eyes,
And afks if it be time to rife;
Of head-ach and the spleen complains;
And then to cool her heated brains,
Her night-gown and her flippers brought
her,
Takes a large dram of citron-water.
Then to her glass; and "Betty, pray
"Don't I look frightfully to day?
"But was it not confounded hard?
Well, if I ever touch a card!
"Four mattadores, and lofe codill!
"Depend upon't, I never will.
"But run to Tom, and bid him fix
"The ladies here to night by fix."
Madam,
Madam, the goldfmith waits below:
He fays, his business is to know
If you'll redeem the filver cup
He keeps in pawn?" Why fhew him up."
Your dreffing-plate he'll be content
To take, for intereft cent. per cent.
And, madam, there's my lady Spade
Hath sent this letter by her maid.
"Well, I remember what he won;
"And hath fhe fent fo foon to dun?
Here, carry down those ten piftoles.
My husband left to pay for coals:
"I thank my stars, they all are light;
"And I may have revenge to night."
Now, loit'ring o'er her tea and cream,
She enters on her ufual theme;
Her last night's ill fuccefs repeats,
Calls lady Spade a hundred cheats :
"She flipt fpadillo in her breast,
"Then thought to turn it to a jeft:
"There's Mrs. Cut and fhe combine,
"And to each other give the fign."
Through ev'ry game pursues her tale,
Like hunters o'er their ev ning ale.
Now to another scene give place: Enter the folks with filks and lace :
Fresh matter for a world of chat,
Right Indian this, right Mechlin that;
Obferve this pattern; there's a ftuff;
I can have customers enough.
Dear Madam, you are grown fo hard—
This lace is worth twelve pounds a yard:
Madam, if there be truth in man,
I never fold fo cheap a fan,
This business of importance o'er, And madam almost dreft by four, The footman, in his ufual phrase, Comes up with, Madam, dinner stays: She answers in her usual style, The cook must keep it back a while : I never can have time to drefs; No woman breathing takes I'm hurried fo, it makes me fick; I wish the dinner at Old Nick. At table now fhe acts her part, Has all the dinner-cant by heart : "I thought we were to dine alone, "My dear; for fure, if I had known "This company would come to day"But really 'tis my spouse's way; "He's fo unkind, he never fends "To tell when he invites his friends:
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