By old Popish canons, as wife men have penn'd 'em,
Each priest had a concubine, jure ecclefiæ ;
Who 'd be Dean of Fernes without a commendam?
And precedents we can produce, if it please ye :
Then why fhould the Dean, when whores are fo cheap,
Be put to the peril and toil of a rape ?
If fortune fhould please but to take fuch a crotchet
(To thee I apply, great Smedley's fucceffor)
To give thee lawn fleeves, a mitre, and rochet,
Whom wouldft thou refemble ?. I leave thee a gueffer.
But I only behold thee in Atherton's * shape,
For fodomy hang'd; as thoy for a rape.
Ah! doft thou not envy the brave colonel Chartres,
Condemn'd for thy crime at threefcore-and-ten
To hang him, all England would lend him their garters,
Yet he lives, and is ready to ravish again.
Then throttle thyfelf with an ell of strong tape,
For thou haft not a groat to atone for a rape.
The Dean he was vex'd that his whores were fo willing:
He long'd for a girl that would struggle and fquali; :
He rayish'd her fairly, and fav'd a good fhilling;
But here was to pay the devil and all.
His trouble and forrows now come in a heap,
And hang'd he must be for committing a rape.
A bishop of Waterford, of infamous character. N.
If maidens are ravish'd, it is their own choice:
Why are they fo wilful to struggle with men ?
If they would but lie quiet, and ftifle their voice,
No Devil nor Dean could ravish them then.
Nor would there be need of a strong hempen cape
Ty'd round the Dean's neck for committing a rape.
XII.
Our Church and our State dear England maintains,
For which all true Proteftant hearts fhould be glad
She fends us our Bishops and Judges and Deans;
And better would give us, if better she had.
But, lord! how the rabble will ftare and will gape, When the good English Dean is hang'd up for a rape !!
THE THRESHER AND FAVOURITE POET.
A QUIBBLING EPIGRA M. 173,0.
THE
HE thresher Duck could o'er the Queen prevail,
The proverb fays, no fence against a flail.
From threshing corn he turns to thresh his brains;
For which her Majefty allows him grains.
Though 'tis confeft, that thofe, who ever saw
His poems, think them all not worth a fraw!
Thrice happy Duck, employ'd in threshing Stubble t
Thy toil is leffen'd, and thy profits double.
THE LADY'S DRESSING-ROOM. 1730.
FIVE hours (and who can do it lefs in?)
By haughty Cælia fpent in dreffing;
The Goddess from her chamber iffues,
Array'd in lace, brocades, and tissues.
Strephon, who found the room was void,
And Betty otherwife employ'd,
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 befmear'd;
Strephon, the rogue, difplay'd it wide,
And turn'd it round on every fide :
In fuch a cafe, few words are best,
And Strephon bids us guess the rest;
But fwears, how damnably the men lie
In calling Cælia sweet and cleanly.
Now liften, while he next produces
The various combs for various uses ;
Fill'd-up with dirt so closely fixt,
No brush could force a way betwixt ;
A paste of compofition rare,
Sweat, dandriff, powder, lead, and hair.
A forehead-cloth with oil upon 't,
To smooth the wrinkles on her front:
Here alum-flower, to ftop the steams
Exhal'd from four unfavory streams;
There night-gloves made of Tripley's hide,
Bequeath'd by Tripfey when the died;
With puppy-water, beauty's help,
Diftill'd from Tripfey's darling whelp.
Here galley-pots and vials plac'd,
Some fill'd with washes, fome with paste;
Some with pomatums, paints, and flops,
And ointments good for fcabby chops.
Hard-by a filthy bason stands,
Foul'd with the scouring of her hands;
The bafon takes whatever comes,
The scrapings from her teeth and gums,
A nafty compound of all hues,
For here she fpits, and here fhe fpues.
But, oh! it turn'd poor Strephon's bowels,
When he beheld and smelt the towels,
Begumm'd, bematter'd, and beflim'd,
With dirt, and fweat, and ear-wax grim'd;
No object Strephon's eye efcapes;
Here petticoats in frowzy heaps;
Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot,
All varnish'd o'er with fnuff and fnot.
The stockings why should I expofe,
Stain'd with the moisture of her toes;
Or greafy coifs, or pinners reeking,
Which Cælia flept at least a week in
A pair of tweezers next he found,
To pluck her brows in arches round;
Or hairs that fink the forehead low,
Or on her chin like briftles grow.
The virtues we must not let pafs
Of Calia's magnifying-glafs;
When frighted Strephon caft his eye on 't,
It fhew'd the vifage of a giant:
A glafs that can to fight difclofe
The smallest worm in Cœlia's nofe,
And faithfully direct her nail
To fqueeze 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 reft?
And must you needs describe the chest?
That careless wench na creature warn her
To move it out from yonder corner!
But leave it standing full in fight,.
For you to exercise your spite ?
In vain the workman shew'd his wit,
With rings and hinges counterfeit,
To make it seem in this disguife
A cabinet to vulgar eyes,
Which Strephon ventur'd to look in,
Refolv'd to go through thick and thing
He lifts the lid: there needs no more,
He fmelt it all the time before..
As, from within Pandora's box,
When Epimetheus op'd the locks;
A fudden univerfal crew
Of human evils opward flew,
|