ON THE

FIVE LADIES AT SOT'S-HOLE*,

WITH THE DOCTOR† AT THEIR HEAD.

N. B. THE LADIES TREATED THE DOCTOR.

Sent as from an OFFICER in the ARMY. 1728.

FAIR ladies, number five,

Who, in your merry freaks,

With little Tom contrive
To feaft on ale and fteaks;

While he fits by a-grinning,

To fee you fafe in Sot's-hole, Set up with greafy linen,

And neither mugs nor pots whole:

Alas! I never thought,

A priest would please your palate; Befides, I'll hold a groat,

He'll put you in a ballad;

Where I fhall fee your faces
On paper daub'd fo foul,
They 'll be no more like Graces,

Than Venus like an owl.

An alehoufe in Dublin, famous for beef-fteaks.

+ Dr. Thomas Sheridan.

And we fhall take you rather

To be a midnight pack
Of witches met together,
With Beelzebub in black.

It fills my heart with woe,
To think, fuch ladies fine
Should be reduc'd fo low

To treat a dull Divine.

Be by a Parfon cheated!

Had

you

been cunning stagers,

You might yourselves be treated

By Captains and by Majors.

See how corruption grows,

While mothers, daughters, aunts,

Inftead of powder'd beaux,

From pulpits chuse gallants.

If we, who wear our wigs

With fan-tail and with fnake, Are bubbled thus by prigs;

Z-ds! who would be a rake?

Had I a heart to fight,

I'd knock the Doctor down; Or could I read or write,

Egad! I'd wear a gown.

Then leave him to his birch *

And at The Rofe on Sunday,

The parfon fafe at church,

I'll treat you with burgundy.

*Dr. Sheridan was a fchool-mafter.

THE

THE FIVE LADIES ANSWER

TO THE BEAU

With the WIG and WINGS at his HEAD.

OU little fcribbling beau,

What dæmon made you write?

Because to write you know
As much as you can fight.
For compliment fo fcurvy,
I wish we had you here;
We'd turn you topsy-turvy
Into a mug of beer.

You thought to make a farce on
The man and place we chofe ;
We 're fure a fingle Parfon

Is worth an hundred Beaux.

And you would make us vassals,
Good Mr. Wig and Wings,

To filver-clocks and taffels;

You would, you Thing of Things!

Because around your cane

A ring of diamonds is set;

And you, in fome bye-lane,

Have gain'd a paultry grizette :

Shall we, of fense refin'd,
Your trifling nonsense bear,

As noify as the wind,
As empty as the air?

We hate your empty prattle;

And vow and fwear 'tis true,

There's more in one child's rattle
Than twenty fops like you.

THE BEAU'S REPLY

TO THЕ

FIVE LADIES ANSWER.

WHY, how now dapper Black,

I fmell your gown and cassock,

As ftrong upon your back,

As Tifdall* fmells of a fock.

To write such scurvy stuff!
Fine Ladies never do 't;
1 know you well enough,
And eke your cloven foot.

Fine Ladies, when they write,
Nor fcold, nor keep a splutter:
Their verfes give delight,

As foft and fweet as butter.

But Satan never faw

Such haggard lines as these :

They stick athwart my maw,
As bad as Suffolk-cheese.

A clergyman in the North of Ireland, who had made proposals of marriage to Stella.

THE

THE

JOURNAL

OF A MODERN LADY.

In a LETTER to a PERSON of QUALITY. 1728.

SIR,

T was a moft unfriendly part

IT

In you, who ought to know my heart
Are well acquainted with my zeal
For all the female commonweal

How could it come into your mind
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 firft 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, &c.

[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: