[]
THE TIMES. A POEM.
BY [...]
LONDON: PRINTED FOR THE AUTHOR; And Sold by J. COOTE, in Pater-noſter-Row; J. ALMON, in Piccadilly; W. FLEXNEY, near Gray's-Inn Gate, Holborn; C. HENDERSON, at the Royal-Exchange; J. GARDINER, in Parliament-Street, Weſtminſter; and C. MORAN, under the Great Piazza, Covent-Garden. MDCCLXIV.
THE TIMES.
[]THE Time hath been, a Boyiſh, Bluſhing Time,
When Modeſty was ſcarcely held a crime,
When the moſt Wicked had ſome touch of grace,
And trembled to meet Virtue face to face,
When Thoſe, who, in the cauſe of Sin grown grey,
Had ſerv'd her without grudging day by day,
Were yet ſo weak an awkward ſhame to feel,
And ſtrove that glorious ſervice to conceal,
We, better bred, and than our Sires more wiſe,
Such paultry narrowneſs of ſoul deſpiſe,
To Virtue ev'ry mean pretence diſclaim,
Lay bare our crimes, and glory in our ſhame.
[6]
Time was, e'er Temperance had fled the realm;
E're Luxury ſat guttling at the helm
From meal to meal, without one moment's ſpace
Reſerv'd for buſineſs, or allow'd for grace;
E're Vanity had ſo far conquer'd Senſe
To make us all wild rivals in expence,
To make one Fool ſtrive to outvye another,
And ev'ry coxcomb dreſs againſt his brother;
E're baniſh'd Induſtry had left our ſhores,
And Labour was by Pride kick'd out of doors;
E're Idleneſs prevail'd ſole Queen in Courts,
Or only yielded to a rage for ſports;
E're each weak mind was with externals caught,
And Diſſipation held the place of Thought;
E're gambling Lords in Vice ſo far were gone
To cog the die, and bid the Sun look on;
E're a great Nation, not leſs juſt than free,
Was made a beggar by Oeconomy;
E're rugged Honeſty was out of vogue,
E're Faſhion ſtamp'd her ſanction on the rogue;
Time was, that Men had conſcience, that they made
Scruples to owe, what never could be paid.
[7]
Was One then found, however high his name,
So far above his fellows damn'd to ſhame,
Who dar'd abuſe, and falſify his truſt,
Who, being great, yet dar'd to be unjuſt,
Shunn'd like a plague, or but at diſtance view'd,
He walk'd the crouded ſtreets in Solitude,
Nor could his rank, and ſtation in the land
Bribe one mean knave to take him by the hand.
Such rigid maxims (O, might ſuch revive
To keep expiring Honeſty alive)
Made rogues, all other hopes of fame denied,
Not juſt thro' principle, be juſt thro' pride.
Our Times, more poliſh'd, wear a diff'rent face;
Debts are an Honour; Payment a diſgrace.
Men of weak minds, high-plac'd on Folly's liſt,
May gravely tell us Trade cannot ſubſiſt,
Nor all thoſe Thouſands who're in Trade employ'd,
If faith 'twixt Man and Man is once deſtroy'd.
Why—be it ſo—We in that point accord,
But what is Trade, and Tradeſmen to a Lord.
FABER, from day to day, from year to year,
Hath had the cries of tradeſmen in his ear,
[8] Of tradeſmen by his Villainy betray'd,
And, vainly ſeeking Juſtice, bankrupts made.
What is't to FABER? Lordly as before,
He ſits at eaſe, and lives to ruin more.
Fix'd at his door, as motionleſs as ſtone,
Begging, but only begging for their own,
Unheard they ſtand, or only heard by Thoſe,
Thoſe ſlaves in Livery, who mock their woes.
What is't to FABER? he continues great,
Lives on in grandeur, and runs out in ſtate.
The helpleſs Widow, wrung with deep deſpair,
In bitterneſs of ſoul, pours forth her pray'r,
Hugging her ſtarving babes, with ſtreaming eyes,
And calls down vengeance, vengeance from the ſkies.
What is't to FABER? he ſtands ſafe and clear
Heav'n can commence no legal action here,
And on his breaſt a mighty plate he wears,
A plate more firm than triple braſs, which bears
The name of PRIVILEGE, 'gainſt vulgar awe;
He feels no Conſcience, and he fears no Law.
Nor think, acquainted with ſmall knaves alone,
Who have not ſhame outliv'd, and grace outgrown,
[9] The great World hidden from thy reptile view,
That on ſuch Men, to whom Contempt is due,
Contempt ſhall fall, and their vile Author's name
Recorded ſtand thro' all the land of ſhame.
No—to his porch, like Perſians to the Sun,
Behold contending crowds of Courtiers run;
See, to his aid what noble troops advance,
All ſworn to keep his crimes in Countenance.
Nor wonder at it—They partake the charge,
As ſmall their Conſcience, and their debts as large.
Propp'd by ſuch Clients, and without controul
From all that's honeſt in the human ſoul,
In Grandeur mean, with inſolence unjuſt,
Whilſt none but knaves can praiſe, and Fools will truſt,
Careſs'd and Courted, FABER ſeems to ſtand
A mighty Pillar in a guilty land.
And (a ſad truth to which ſucceeding times
Will ſcarce give credit, when 'tis told in rimes)
Did not ſtrict Honour with a jealous eye
Watch round the Throne, did not true Piety,
(Who, link'd with Honour for the nobleſt ends,
Ranks none but honeſt Men amongſt her friends)
[10] Forbid us to be cruſh'd with ſuch a weight,
He might in time be Miniſter of State.
But why enlarge I on ſuch petty crimes?
They might have ſhock'd the faith of former times.
But now are held as Nothing—We begin,
Where our Sires ended, and improve in Sin,
Rack our invention, and leave nothing new
In vice, and folly for our ſons to do.
Nor deem this cenſure hard; there's not a place
Moſt conſecrate to purpoſes of grace,
Which Vice hath not polluted; none ſo high,
But with bold pinion She hath dar'd to fly,
And build there for her pleaſure; none ſo low,
But She hath crept into it, made it know,
And feel her pow'r; in Courts, in Camps She reigns,
O'er ſober Citizens, and ſimple Swains,
E'en in our temples She hath fix'd her throne,
And 'bove God's holy altars plac'd her own.
More to increaſe the horrour of our State,
To make her Empire laſting as 'tis great,
[11] To make us in full-grown Perfection feel
Curſes which neither Art, nor Time can heal,
All Shame diſcarded, all remains of pride,
MEANNESS ſits crown'd, and triumphs by her ſide.
MEANNESS, who gleans out of the human mind
Thoſe few good ſeeds which Vice had left behind,
Thoſe ſeeds which might in time to Virtue tend,
And leaves the Soul without a pow'r to mend;
MEANNESS, at ſight of whom, with brave diſdain
The breaſt of Manhood ſwells, but ſwells in vain,
Before whom Honour makes a forc'd retreat,
And Freedom is compell'd to quit her ſeat;
MEANNESS which, like that mark by bloody CAIN
Borne in his forehead for a brother ſlain,
God, in his great and all-ſubduing rage,
Ordains the ſtanding mark of this vile age.
The venal Heroe trucks his fame for gold,
The Patriot's virtue for a place is ſold,
The Stateſman bargains for his Country's ſhame,
And for preſerment Prieſts their God diſclaim.
Worn out with luſt, her day of letch'ry o'er,
The Mother trains the daughter which She bore
[12] In her own paths; The Father aids the plan,
And, when the Innocent is ripe for Man,
Sells her to ſome old Letcher for a wife,
And makes her an Adultereſs for life,
Or in the papers bids his name appear,
And advertiſes for a L—;
Huſband and Wife (whom Av'rice muſt applaud)
Agree to ſave the charge of Pimp and Bawd;
Thoſe parts they play themſelves, a frugal pair,
And ſhare the infamy, the gain to ſhare,
Well-pleas'd to find, when They the profits tell,
That they have play'd the whore and rogue ſo well.
Nor are theſe things (which might imply a ſpark
Of Shame ſtill left) tranſacted in the dark.
No—to the Public they are open laid,
And carried on like any other trade,
Scorning to mince damnation, and too proud
To work the works of darkneſs in a cloud,
In fulleſt vigour Vice maintains her ſway:
Free are her Marts, and open at noon-day.
MEANNESS, now wed to IMPUDENCE, no more
In darkneſs ſkulks, and trembles as of yore
[13] When the Light breaks upon her coward eye;
Boldly She ſtalks on earth, and to the ſky
Liſts her proud head, nor fears leaſt time abate,
And turn her Huſband's love to canker'd hate,
Since Fate, to make them more ſincerely one,
Hath crown'd their loves with MOUNTAGUE their ſon.
A Son, ſo like his Dam, ſo like his Sire,
With all the Mother's craft, the Father's fire,
An Image ſo expreſs in ev'ry part,
So like in all bad qualities of heart,
That, had They fifty children, He alone
Would ſtand as Heir Apparent to the throne.
With our own Iſland vices not content,
We rob our neighbours on the Continent,
Dance Europe round, and viſit ev'ry court
To ape their follies, and their crimes import.
To diff'rent lands for diff'rent ſins we roam,
And, richly freighted, bring our cargoe home,
Nobly induſtrious to make vice appear
In her ſull State, and perfect only here.
To HOLLAND, where Politeneſs ever reigns,
Where primitive Sincerity remains,
[14] And makes a ſtand, where Freedom in her courſe
Hath left her name, tho' ſhe hath loſt her force
In that, as other lands, where ſimple Trade
Was never in the garb of Fraud array'd,
Where Av'rice never dar'd to ſhew his head,
Where, like a ſmiling Cherub, Mercy, led
By Reaſon, bleſſes the ſweet-blooded race,
And Cruelty could never find a place,
To HOLLAND for that Charity we roam,
Which happily begins, and ends at home.
FRANCE, in return for peace and pow'r reſtor'd,
For all thoſe Countries, which the Heroe's ſword
Unprofitably purchas'd, idly thrown
Into her lap, and made once more her own.
FRANCE hath afforded large and rich ſupplies
Of Vanities full-trimm'd, of poliſh'd lies,
Of ſoothing flatteries, which thro' the ears
Steal to, and melt the heart, of ſlaviſh fears
Which break the Spirit, and of abject fraud—
For which alas! we need not ſend abroad.
SPAIN gives us Pride—which SPAIN to all the earth,
May largely give, nor fear herſelf a dearth—
[15] Gives us that Jealouſy, which, born of fear
And mean diſtruſt, grows not by Nature here—
Gives us that Superſtition, which pretends
By the worſt means to ſerve the beſt of ends—
That Cruelty, which, ſtranger to the brave,
Dwells only with the Coward, and the Slave,
That Cruelty, which led her Chriſtian bands
With more than ſavage rage o'er ſavage lands,
Bade her without remorſe whole countries thin,
And hold of nought, but Mercy, as a ſin.
ITALIA, nurſe of ev'ry ſofter art,
Who, feigning to refine, unmans the heart,
Who lays the realms of Senſe and Virtue waſte,
Who marrs whilſt She pretends to mend our taſte,
ITALIA, to compleat and crown our ſhame,
Sends us a Fiend, and LEGION is his name.
The Farce of greatneſs, without being great,
Pride without Pow'r, Titles without Eſtate,
Souls without vigour, Bodies without force,
Hate without cauſe, Revenge without Remorſe,
Dark, mean Revenge, Murder without defence,
Jealouſy without Love, Sound without Senſe,
[16] Mirth without Humour, without Wit Grimace,
Faith without Reaſon, Goſpel without Grace,
Zeal without Knowledge, without Nature Art,
Men without Manhood, Women without Heart,
Half-Men, who, dry and pithleſs, are debarr'd
From Man's beſt joys—no ſooner made than marr'd—
Half-Men, whom many a rich and noble Dame,
To ſerve her luſt, and yet ſecure her fame,
Keeps on high diet, as We Capons feed,
To glut our appetites at laſt decreed,
Women, who dance, in poſtures ſo obſcene,
They might awaken ſhame in ARETINE,
Who, when, retir'd from the day's piercing light,
They celebrate the myſteries of night,
Might make the Muſes, in a corner plac'd
To view their monſtrous luſts, deem SAPPHO chaſte;
Theſe, and a thouſand follies rank as theſe,
A thouſand faults, ten thouſand Fools, who pleaſe
Our pall'd and ſickly taſte, ten thouſand knaves,
Who ſerve our foes as ſpies, and us as ſlaves,
Who by degrees, and unperceiv'd prepare
Our necks for chains which they already wear,
Madly we entertain, at the expence
Of Fame, of Virtue, Taſte, and Common-Senſe.
[17]
Nor ſtop we here—the ſoft luxurious EAST,
Where Man, his ſoul degraded, from the Beaſt
In nothing diff'rent but in ſhape we view,
They walk on four legs, and he walks on two,
Attracts our eye, and, flowing from that ſource,
Sins of the blackeſt character, Sins worſe
Than all her plagues, which truly to unfold
Would make the beſt blood in my veins run cold,
And ſtrike all Manhood dead, which but to name
Would call up in my cheeks the marks of ſhame,
Sins, if ſuch Sins can be, which ſhut out grace,
Which for the guilty leave no hope, no place
E'en in God's mercy, Sins 'gainſt Nature's plan
Poſſeſs the land at large, and Man for Man
Burns in thoſe fires, which Hell alone could raiſe
To make him more than damn'd, which, in the days
Of puniſhment, when guilt becomes her prey,
With all her tortures She can ſcarce repay.
Be Grace ſhut out, be Mercy deaf, let God
With tenfold terrours arm that dreadful nod
Which ſpeaks them loſt, and ſentenc'd to deſpair;
Diſtending wide her jaws, let Hell prepare
[18] For Thoſe who thus offend amongſt Mankind,
A fire more fierce, and tortures more refin'd;
On Earth, which groans beneath their monſtrous weight,
On Earth, alas! They meet a diff [...]rent fate,
And whilſt the Laws, falſe grace, falſe mercy ſhewn,
Are taught to wear a ſoftneſs not their own,
Men, whom the Beaſts would ſpurn, ſhould they appear
Amongſt the honeſt herd, find refuge here.
No longer by vain fear, or ſhame controul'd,
From long, too long Security grown bold,
Mocking rebuke, they brave it in our ſtreets,
And LUMLEY e'en at noon his miſtreſs meets.
So public in their crimes, ſo daring grown,
They almoſt take a pride to have them known,
And each unnat'ral Villain ſcarce endures
To make a ſecret of his vile amours.
Go where We will, at ev'ry time and place,
S [...]DOM confronts, and ſtares us in the face;
They ply in public at our very doors
And take the bread from much more honeſt Whores.
Th [...]ſe who are mean high Paramours ſecure,
And the rich gailty ſcreen the guilty poor;
[19] The Sin too proud to feel from Reaſon awe,
And Thoſe, who practiſe it, too great for Law.
Woman, the pride and happineſs of Man,
Without whoſe ſoft endearments Nature's plan
Had been a blank, and Life not worth a thought;
Woman, by all the Loves and Graces taught,
With ſofteſt arts, and ſure, tho' hidden ſkill
To humanize, and mould us to her will;
Woman, with more than common grace form'd here,
With the perſuaſive language of a tear
To melt the rugged temper of our Iſle,
Or win us to her purpoſe with a ſmile;
Woman, by fate the quickeſt ſpur decreed,
The faireſt, beſt reward of ev'ry deed
Which bears the ſtamp of honour, at whoſe name
Our antient Heroes caught a quicker flame,
And dar'd beyond belief, whilſt o'er the plain,
Spurning the carcaſes of Princes ſlain,
Confuſion proudly ſtrode, whilſt Horrour blew
The fatal trump, and Death ſtalk'd full in view;
Woman is out of date, a thing thrown by
As having loſt its uſe; No more the Eye
[20] With female beauty caught, in wild amaze,
Gazes entranc'd, and could for ever gaze;
No more the Heart, that ſeat where Love reſides,
Each Breath drawn quick and ſhort, in fuller tides
Life poſting thro' the veins, each pulſe on fire,
And the whole body tingling with deſire,
Pants for thoſe charms, which Virtue might engage
To break his vow, and thaw the froſt of age,
Bidding each trembling nerve, each muſcle ſtrain,
And giving pleaſure which is almoſt pain.
Women are kept for nothing but the breed;
For pleaſure we muſt have a GANYMEDE,
A fine, freſh HYLAS, a delicious boy,
To ſerve our purpoſes of beaſtly joy.
Faireſt of Nymphs, where ev'ry Nymph is fair,
Whom Nature form'd with more than common care,
With more than common care whom Art improv'd,
And Both declar'd moſt worthy to be lov'd,
—neglected wanders, whilſt a croud
Purſue, and conſecrate the ſteps—
She, hapleſs maid, born in a wretched hour,
Waſtes life's gay prime in vain, like ſome fair flow'r,
[21] Sweet in its ſcent, and lively in its hue,
Which withers on the ſtalk from whence it grew,
And dies uncropp'd, whilſt He, admir'd, careſt,
Belov'd, and ev'ry where a welcome gueſt,
With Brutes of rank and fortune plays the Whore,
For their unnat'ral luſt a Common Sew'r.
Dine with APICIUS—at his ſumptuous board
Find all, the world of dainties can afford—
And yet (ſo much diſtemper'd Spirits pall
The ſickly appetite) amidſt them all
APICIUS finds no joy, but, whilſt he carves
For ev'ry gueſt, the Landlord ſits and ſtarves.
The foreſt Haunch, fine, fat, in flavour high,
Kept to a moment, ſmokes before his eye,
But ſmokes in vain; his heedleſs eye runs o'er
And loathes what He had deified before;
The Turtle, of a great and glorious ſize,
Worth its own weight in gold, a mighty prize
For which a Man of Taſte all riſques would run,
Itſelf a feaſt, and ev'ry diſh in one,
The Turtle in luxurious pomp comes in,
Kept, kill'd, cut up, prepar'd, and dreſt by QUIN;
[22] In vain it comes, in vain lies full in view;
As QUIN hath dreſt it, he may eat it too,
APICIUS cannot—When the glaſs goes round,
Quick-circling, and the roofs with mirth reſound,
Sober he ſits, and ſilent—all alone
Tho' in a croud, and to himſelf ſcarce known,
On grief he feeds, nor friends can cure, nor wine
Suſpend his cares, and make him ceaſe to pine.
Why mourns APICIUS thus? why runs his eye,
Heedleſs, o'er delicates, which from the ſky
Might call down Jove? Where now his gen'rous wiſh
That, to invent a new and better diſh,
The World might burn, and all mankind expire,
So he might roaſt a Phoenix at the fire.
Why ſwims that eye in tears, which, thro' a race
Of ſixty years, ne'er ſhew'd one ſign of grace?
Why feels that heart, which never felt before?
Why doth that pamper'd glutton eat no more,
Who only liv'd to eat, his Stomach pall'd,
And drown'd in floods of ſorrow? hath Fate call'd
His Father from the grave to ſecond life?
Hath CLODIUS on his hands return'd his Wife,
[23] Or hath the Law, by ſtricteſt juſtice taught,
Compell'd him to reſtore the dow'r She brought?
Hath ſome bold Creditor againſt his will
Brought in, and forc'd him to diſcharge a bill,
Where Eating had no ſhare? Hath ſome vain Wench
Run out his wealth, and forc'd him to retrench?
Hath any rival Glutton got the ſtart,
And beat him in his own luxurious art,
Bought cates for which APICIUS could not pay,
Or dreſt old dainties in a newer way?
Hath his Cook, worthy to be ſlain with rods,
Spoil'd a diſh, fit to entertain the Gods,
Or hath ſome Varlet, croſs'd by cruel fate,
Thrown down the price of Empires in a plate?
None, none of theſe—his Servants all are try'd,
So ſure, they walk on ice, and never ſlide;
His Cook, an acquiſition made in France,
Might put a CLOE out of countenance,
Nor, tho' old HOLLES ſtill maintains his ſtand,
Hath He one rival glutton in the land;
Women are all the objects of his hate,
His debts are all unpaid, and yet his ſtate
[24] In full ſecurity and triumph held,
Unleſs for once a Knave ſhould be expell'd;
His Wife is ſtill a Whore, and in his pow'r
The Woman gone, he ſtill retains the dow'r;
Sound in the grave (thanks to his filial care
Which mix'd the draught, and kindly ſent him there,)
His Father ſleeps, and, till the laſt trump ſhake
The corners of the earth, ſhall not awake.
Whence flows this Sorrow then? behind his chair
Did'ſt Thou not ſee, deck'd with a Solitaire
Which on his bare breaſt glitt'ring play'd, and grac'd
With niceſt ornaments, a Stripling plac'd,
A Smooth, Smug, Stripling in life's faireſt prime?
Did'ſt Thou not mind too, how from time to time,
The monſtrous Letcher, tempted to deſpiſe
All other dainties, thither turn'd his eyes?
How He ſeem'd inly to reproach us all,
Who ſtrove his fix'd attention to recall,
And how He wiſh'd, e'en at the Time of grace,
Like Janus, to have had a double face?
His cauſe of grief behold in that fair Boy;
APICIUS dotes, and CORYDON is coy.
[25]
Vain and unthinking Stripling! When the glaſs
Meets thy too curious eye, and, as You paſs,
Flatt'ring, preſents in ſmiles thy image there,
Why doſt Thou bleſs the Gods, who made Thee fair?
Blame their large bounties, and with reaſon blame;
Curſe, curſe thy beauty, for It leads to ſhame.
When thy hot Lord, to work Thee to his end,
Bids ſhow'rs of gold into thy breaſt deſcend,
Suſpect his gifts, nor the vile giver truſt;
They're baits for Virtue, and ſmell ſtrong of luſt.
On thoſe gay, gaudy trappings, which adorn
The temple of thy body, look with ſcorn,
View them with horrour, they pollution mean
And deepeſt ruin; Thou haſt often ſeen,
From 'mongſt the herd, the faireſt and the beſt
Carefully ſingled out, and richly dreſt,
With grandeur mock'd, for ſacrifice decreed,
Only in greater pomp at laſt to bleed.
Be warn'd in time, the threat'ned danger ſhun,
To ſtay a moment is to be undone.
What tho', temptation proof, thy Virtue ſhine,
Nor bribes can move, nor arts can undermine,
All other methods failing, one reſource
Is ſtill behind, and Thou muſt yield to force.
[26] Paint to thyſelf the horrors of a rape,
Moſt ſtrongly paint, and, while Thou can'ſt eſcape,
Mind not his promiſes—They're made in ſport—
Made to be broke—Was He not bred at Court?
Truſt not his Honour; He's a Man of birth;
Attend not to his oaths—They're made on earth,
Not regiſt'red in Heav'n—He mocks at grace,
And in his Creed God never found a place—
Look not for Conſcience—for He knows her not,
So long a Stranger, ſhe is quite forgot—
Nor think thyſelf in Law ſecure and firm—
Thy Maſter is a Lord, and Thou a Worm,
A poor mean Reptile, never meant to think,
Who, being well ſupplied with meat and drink,
And ſuffer'd juſt to crawl from place to place,
Muſt ſerve his luſts, and think he does Thee grace.
Fly then, whilſt yet 'tis in thy pow'r to fly,
But whither can'ſt Thou go? on Whom rely
For wiſh'd protection? Virtue's ſure to meet
An armed hoſt of foes, in ev'ry ſtreet.
What boots It, of APICIUS fearful grown,
Headlong to fly into the arms of STONE,
[27] Or why take refuge in the houſe of pray'r,
If ſure to meet with an APICIUS there?
Truſt not Old Age, which will thy faith betray;
Saint SOCRATES is ſtill a Goat, tho' grey;
Truſt not green Youth; FLORIO will ſcarce go down,
And, at eighteen, hath ſurfeited the Town;
Truſt not to Rakes—alas! 'tis all pretence—
They take up Raking only as a fence
'Gainſt Common fame—place H— in thy view;
He keeps one Whore, as BARROWBY kept two;
Truſt not to Marriage— T— took a Wife,
Who chaſte as Dian might have paſs'd her life,
Had She not, far more prudent in her aim,
(To propagate the honours of his name,
And ſave expiring titles) taken care
Without his knowledge to provide an heir;
Truſt not to Marriage, in Mankind unread;
S—'s a married man, and S— new wed.
Would'ſt Thou be ſafe? Society forſwear,
Fly to the deſart, and ſeek ſhelter there,
Herd with the Brutes—they follow Nature's plan—
There's not one Brute ſo dangerous as Man
[28] In Afric's wilds—'mongſt them that refuge find,
Which Luſt denies thee here among Mankind;
Renounce thy name, thy nature, and no more
Pique thy vain pride on Manhood, on all four
Walk, as You ſee thoſe honeſt creatures do,
And quite forget that once You walk'd on Two.
But, if the thoughts of Solitude alarm,
And Social life hath one remaining charm,
If ſtill Thou art to jeopardy decreed
Amongſt the monſters of AUGUSTA'S breed,
Lay by thy ſex, thy ſafety to procure;
Put off the Man, from Men to live ſecure;
Go forth a woman to the public view,
And with their garb aſſume their manners too.
Had the light-footed GREEK of Chiron's ſchool
Been wiſe enough to keep this ſingle rule,
The Maudlin Heroe, like a puling boy
Robb'd of his play-thing, on the plains of Troy
Had never blubber'd at Patroclus' tomb,
And plac'd his Minion in his Miſtreſs' room.
Be not in this than Catamites more nice,
Do that for Virtue, which they do for vice.
[29] Thus ſhalt Thou paſs untainted life's gay bloom,
Thus ſtand uncourted in the drawing room,
At midnight thus, untempted, walk the ſttreet,
And run no danger but of being beat.
Where is the Mother, whoſe officious zeal
Diſcreetly judging what her Daughters feel
By what She felt herſelf in days of yore,
Againſt that Letcher Man makes faſt the door,
Who not permits, e'en for the ſake of pray'r,
A Prieſt, uncaſtrated, to enter there,
Nor (could her wiſhes, and her care prevail)
Would ſuffer in the houſe a fly that's male?
Let Her diſcharge her cares, throw wide her doors,
Her daughters cannot, if They would, be Whores,
Nor can a Man be found, as Times now go,
Who thinks it worth his while to make them ſo.
Tho' They, more freſh, more lively than the Morn,
And brighter than the noon-day Sun, adorn
The works of Nature, tho' the Mother's grace
Revives, improv'd, in ev'ry daughter's face,
Undiſciplin'd in dull diſcretion's rules,
Untaught, and Undebauch'd by Boarding Schools,
[30] Free and unguarded, let Them range the Town,
Go ſorth at random, and run pleaſure down
Start where She will, diſcard all taint of fear,
Nor think of danger, when no danger's near.
Watch not their ſteps—They're ſafe without thy care,
Unleſs, like Jennets, they conceive by air,
And ev'ry one of them may die a Nun,
Unleſs They breed, like Carrion, in the Sun.
Men, dead to pleaſure, as they're dead to grace,
Againſt the law of Nature ſet their face,
The grand, primoeval law, and ſeem combin'd
To ſtop the propagation of Mankind;
Vile Pathicks read the Marriage Act with pride,
And fancy that the Law is on their ſide.
Broke down, and Strength a ſtranger to his bed,
Old L— tho' yet alive, is dead;
T— lives no more, or lives not to our Iſle;
No longer bleſt with a Cz—'s ſmile
T— is at P— diſgrac'd,
And M— grown grey, perforce grows chaſte;
Nor, to the credit of our modeſt race,
Riſes one [...] to ſupply their place.
[31] A Maidenhead, which, twenty years ago,
In mid December, the rank Fly would blow
Tho' cloſely kept, now, when the Dog-Star's heat
Enflames the marrow, in the very ſtreet
May lie untouch'd, left for the worms, by Thoſe
Who daintily paſs by, and hold their noſe.
Poor, Plain Concupiſcence is in diſgrace,
And Simple Letch'ry dares not ſhew her face
Leaſt She be ſent to Bridewell; Bankrupts made,
To ſave their fortunes, Bawds leave off that trade,
Which firſt had left off them; to Well-cloſe Square
Fine, freſh, young Strumpets (for DODD preaches there)
Throng for ſubſiſtence; Pimps no longer thrive,
And Penſions only keep L— alive.
Where is the Mother, who thinks all her pain,
And all her jeopardy of travail, gain,
When a Man Child is born, thinks ev'ry pray'r
Paid to the ſull, and anſwer'd in an heir?
Shortſighted Woman! Little doth ſhe know
What ſtreams of ſorrow from that ſource may flow,
Little ſuſpect, whilſt She ſurveys her Boy,
Her young NARCISSUS, with an eye of joy
[32] Too full for Continence, that Fate could give
Her darling as a curſe, that She may live,
E're ſixteen Winters their ſhort courſe have run,
In agonies of ſoul, to curſe that Son.
Pray then, for daughters, Ye wiſe Mothers, pray;
They ſhall reward your love, nor make ye grey
Before your time with ſorrow; They ſhall give
Ages of peace and comfort, whilſt Ye live
Make life moſt truly worth your care, and ſave,
In ſpite of death, your mem'ries from the grave.
That Senſe, with more than manly vigour fraught,
That Fortitude of Soul, that ſtretch of Thought,
That Genius, great beyond the narrow bound
Of Earth's low walk, that Judgment perfect found,
When wanted moſt, that Purity of Taſte,
Which, Critics mention by the name of chaſte,
Adorn'd with Elegance, that eaſy flow
Of ready Wit, which never made a foe,
That Face, that Form, that Dignity, that Eaſe,
Thoſe pow'rs of pleaſing with that will to pleaſe,
By which LEPEL, when in her youthful days,
E'en from the curriſh POPE extorted praiſe,
[29] We ſee, tranſmitted, in her Daughter ſhine,
And view a new LEPEL in CAROLINE.
Is a ſon born into this world of woe?
In never-ceaſing ſtreams let ſorrow flow,
Be from that hour the houſe with ſables hung,
Let lamentations dwell upon thy tongue,
E'en from the moment that he firſt began
To wail and whine, let him not ſee a man.
Lock, Lock him up, far from the public eye,
Give him no opportunity to buy,
Or to be bought; B—, tho' rich, was ſold,
And gave his body up to ſhame for gold.
Let It be bruited all about the Town,
That He is coarſe, indelicate, and brown,
An Antidote to Luſt, his Face deep ſcar'd
With the Small Pox, his Body maim'd and marr'd,
Eat up with the Kings-evil, and his blood,
Tainted throughout, a thick and putrid flood,
Where dwells Corruption, making him all o'er,
From head to foot, a rank and running ſore.
Should'ſt Thou report him as by Nature made,
He is undone, and by thy praiſe betray'd;
[30] Give him out fair, Letchers in number more,
More brutal and more fierce, than throng'd the door
Of Lor in SODOM, ſhall to thine repair,
And force a paſſage, tho' a God is there.
Let Him not have one Servant that is male;
Where Lords are baffled, Servants oft prevail.
Some vices They propoſe, to all agree;
H— was guilty, but was M— free?
Give him no Tutor—throw him to a punk,
Rather than truſt his morals to a Monk—
Monks we all know—We, who have liv'd at home,
From fair report, and Travellers, who roam,
More feelingly—nor truſt him to the gown,
Tis oft a covering in this vile town
For baſe deſigns; Ourſelves have liv'd to ſee
More than one Parſon in the Pillory.
Should He have Brothers, (Image to thy view
A Scene, which, tho' not public made, is true)
Let not one Brother be to t'other known,
Nor let his Father ſit with him alone.
[31]
Be all his Servants, Female, Young, and Fair,
And if the Pride of Nature ſpur thy heir
To deeds of Venery, if, hot and wild,
He chance to get ſome ſcore of maids with child,
Chide, but forgive him; Whoredom is a crime,
Which, more at this, than any other time,
Calls for indulgence, and, 'mongſt ſuch a race,
To have a baſtard is ſome ſign of grace.
Born in ſuch times, ſhould I ſit tamely down,
Suppreſs my rage, and ſaunter thro' the town
As One who knew not, or who ſhar'd theſe crimes?
Should I at leſſer evils point my rimes,
And let this Giant Sin, in the full eye
Of Obſervation, paſs unwounded by?
Tho' our meek Wives, paſſive Obedience taught,
Patiently bear thoſe wrongs, for which They ought,
With the brave ſpirit of their dams poſſeſs'd,
To plant a dagger in each huſband's breaſt,
To cut off male increaſe from this fair Iſle,
And turn our Thames into another Nile;
Tho', on his Sunday, the ſmug PULPITEER,
Loud 'gainſt all other crimes, is ſilent here,
[32] And thinks himſelf abſolv'd, in the pretence
Of Decency, which meant for the defence
Of real Virtue, and to raiſe her price,
Becomes an agent for the cauſe of vice;
Tho' the Law ſleeps, and, thro' the care They take
To drug her well, may never more awake;
Born in ſuch times, nor with that patience curſt
Which Saints may boaſt of, I muſt ſpeak, or burſt.
But if, too eager in my bold cariere,
Haply I wound the nice, and chaſter ear,
If, all unguarded, all too rude, I ſpeak,
And call up bluſhes in the maiden's cheek,
Forgive, Ye Fair—my real motives view,
And to forgiveneſs add your praiſes too.
For You I write—nor wiſh a better plan—
The Cauſe of Woman is moſt worthy Man—
For You I ſtill will write, nor hold my hand,
Whilſt there's one ſlave of SODOM in the land.
Let them fly far, and ſkulk from place to place,
Not daring to meet Manhood face to face,
Their ſteps I'll track, nor yield them one retreat
Where They may hide their heads, or reſt their feet,
[33] Till God in wrath ſhall let his vengeance fall,
And make a great example of them all,
Bidding in one grand pile this Town expire,
Her Tow'rs in duſt, her Thames a lake of fire,
Or They (moſt worth our wiſh) convinc'd, tho' late,
Of their paſt crimes, and dangerous eſtate,
Pardon of Women with Repentance buy,
And learn to honour them, as much as I.
FINIS.
Appendix A
BOOKS written by Mr. CHURCHILL, to be had of all the Bookſellers in Town.
- A Volume in Quarto, containing the Roſciad, Apology, Night, Prophecy of Famine, Epiſtle to Hogarth, and Ghoſt, four books. Price Thirteen Shillings, in Sheets.
- Conference, Author, Duelliſt, Gotham firſt ſecond and third Books, Candidate, and Farewell. Price each, Two Shillings and Sixpence.
- Citation Suggestion for this Object
- TextGrid Repository (2020). TEI. 4216 The times A poem By blank. University of Oxford Text Archive. . https://hdl.handle.net/21.T11991/0000-001A-57F2-1