IX.
Ah! dost thou not envy the brave col’nel

Chartres,
Condemn’d for thy crime at threescore

and ten?
To hang him all England would lend hm

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:
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 devil and all. His trouble and sorrows now come in a

heap, And hang’d he must be for committing a jape. .

XI. If maidens are ravilh’d, it is their own

choice: Why are they so wilful to struggle with

men! If they would but lie quiet, and ftife their

voice, No devil nor dean could ravish'em then. Nor would there be need of a strong hemp

en cape

Ty'd round the dean's neck for commiting a rape.

XII. 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. But, lord, how the rabble will stare and -will

gape, When the good English dean is hang’d up for a rape!

The

The LADY’s Dressing-Room. *

Written in the Year 1730.

FIVE hours, (and whocan do it less in?)

By haughty Celia 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 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 smock appear’d, Beneath the arm-pits well besmear'd; Strephon, the rogue, display'd it wide, And turn it round on ev'ry side:

In such a case few words are best,
And Strephon bids us guess the rest;
But swears, how damnably the men lie
In calling Celia sweet and cleanly.

Now liften, while he next produces The various combs for various uses; Fill’d up with dirt fo closely fixt, No brulh cou'd force a way betwixt; 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 Exhal'd from sour unsav'ry streams; There night-gloves made of Tripley's hide, Bequeath'd by Tripsey when she died; With puppy water, beauty's help, Distilld from Tripley's darling whelp. Here galley-pots and vials plac’d, Some filld with washes, fome with paste; Some with pomatums, paints, and flops, And ointments good for scabby chops. Hard by a filthy bason stands, Fould with the fcowring of her hands; The bason takes whatever comes, The scrapings from her teeth and gums,

A naity

A nasty compound of all hues,
For here she spits, and here she spues.

Butoh! it turn'd poor Strephon’s bowels,
When he beheld and fmelt 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 should I expose,
Stain'd with the moisture of her toes;
Or greasy coifs, or pinners reeking,
Which Celia Nept at least 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 grow.

The virtues we must not let país Of Celia’s magnifying glass ; When frighted Strephon cast his eye on't, It shew'd the visage of a giant: A glass 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,

M 2