"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 Six."
Madam, the Goldfmith waits below;
He fays, his Bufinefs is to know
If you'll redeem the Silver 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 fent this Letter by her Maid.
"Well, I remember what fhe won :
"And hath she sent so foon to dun?
"Here, carry down those ten Pistoles
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 laft Night's ill Succefs repeats;
Calls Lady Spade a Hundred Cheats :
She flipt Spadillo in her Breaft,
Then thought to turn it to a Jest.
There's Mrs. Cut and fhe combine,
And to each other give the Sign.
Through every Game pursues her Tale,
Like Hunters o'er their Evening Ale.
Now to another Scene give Place, Enter the Folks with Silks and Lace:
Fresh Matter for a World of Chat;
Right Indian this, right Macklin that;
Obferve this Pattern; there's a Stuff!
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 almoft dress'd by Four; The Footman, in his usual Phrase, Comes up with, "Madam, Dinner stays; She answers in her ufual Style,
"The Cook must keep it back a-while "I never can have time to dress, "No Woman breathing takes up lefs; "I'm hurry'd fo, it makes me fick, "I with the Dinner at Old Nick.” At Table now the 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
"I wish you may but have enough." And while, with all this paultry Stuff, She fits tormenting every Guest,
Nor gives her Tongue one Moment's Reft,
In Phrases batter'd, stale, and trite,
Which modern Ladies call polite ;
You fee the Booby Husband fit
In Admiration at her Wit!
BUT, let me now a while furvey,
Our Madam, o'er her Ev'ning Tea;
Surrounded with her noify Clans
Of Prudes, Coquets, and Harridans;
When frighted at the clam'rous Crew,
Away the God of Silence flew,
And fair Discretion left the Place,
And Modefty with blufhing Face:
Now enters over-weening Pride,
And Scandal, ever gaping wide.
Hypocrify with Frown fevere,
Scurrility with gibing Air;
Rude Laughter seeming like to burst;
And Malice always judging worst;
And Vanity with Pocket-Glass ;
And Impudence with Front of Brass;
And ftudied Affectation came,
Each Limb and Feature out of Frame:
While Ignorance, with Brain of Lead,
Flew hov'ring o'er each Female Head.
WHY fhould I ask of thee, my Muse,
An hundred Tongues, as Poets use,
When, to give ev'ry Dame her Due,
An hundred Thousand were too few
Or, how should I, alas! relate
The Sum of all their fenfeless Prate;
Their Innuendo's, Hints, and Slanders,
Their Meanings lewd, and double Entendres.
Now comes the gen❜ral Scandal Charge;
What fome invent, the reft enlarge:
And, " Madam, if it be a Lye,
"You have the Tale as cheap as I:
"I must conceal my Author's Name,
"But now 'tis known to common Fame."
SAY, foolish Females, bold and blind;
Say, by what fatal Turn of Mind,
Are you on Vices moft fevere,
Wherein yourselves have greatest Share?
Thus ev'ry Fool herself deludes;
The Prude condemns the absent Prudes
Mopfa, who ftinks her Spoufe to Death,
Accufes Chloe's tainted Breath;
Hercina, rank with Sweat, prefumes
To cenfure Phillis for Perfumes;
While crooked Cynthia fneering fays;
That Florimel wears Iron Stays,
Chloe, of ev'ry Coxcomb jealous,
Admires how Girls can talk with Fellows;
And full of Indignation frets
That Women fhould be fuch Coquets :
Iris, for Scandal moft notorious,
Cries," Lord, the World is fo cenforious!
And Rufa, with her Combs of Lead,
Whispers that Sappho's Hair is red:
Aura, whofe Tongue you hear a Mile hence,
Talks half a Day in Praise of Silence
And Silvia, full of inward Guilt,
Calls Amoret an arrant Jilt.
Now Voices over Voices rife,
While each to be the loudeft vies;
They contradict, affirm, difpute;
No fingle Tongue one Moment mute;
All mad to speak, and none to hearken,
They fet the very Lap-Dog barking:
Their Chattering makes a louder Din
Than Fish-Wives o'er a Cup of Gin :
Not School-Boys, at a Barring-out,
Rais'd ever fuch inceffant Rout:
The jumbling Particles of Matter
In Chaos made not fuch a Clatter;
Far lefs the Rabble roar and rail,
When drunk with four Election Ale.
Nor do they truft their Tongue alone,
But speak a Language of their own;
Can read a Nod, a Shrug, a Look,
Far better than a printed Book:
Convey a Libel in a Frown,
And wink a Reputation down;
Or, by the Toffing of the Fan,
Defcribe the Lady and the Man.
BUT fee, the Female Club difbands,
Each, twenty Visits on her Hands.
Now, all alone, poor Madam fits,
In Vapours and Hysterick Fits:
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