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But see, where Norab with the Sowins comes---
Then let us rise, and rest our weary Bums.

Τ Η Ε

JOURNAL

OF A
MODERN LADY.

Written in the YEAR 1728.

H

IT

my Zeal

T was a most unfriendly Part

In you, who ought to know my Heart,
Are well acquainted with
For all the Female Commonweal:
How cou'd it come into your Mind,
To pitch on me, of all Mankind,
Against the Sex to write a Satyr,
And brand me for a Woman-Hater?
On me, who think chem all fo fair,
They rival Venus to a Hair ;

Their Virtues never ceas’d to fing,
Since first I learn'd to tune a String
Methinks I hear the Ladies cry,
Will he his Character belye?
Must never our Misfortunes end
And have we lost our only Friend?
Ah lovely Nymphs, remove your Fears,
No more let fall those precious Tears.
Sooner shall, &

[Here several Verses àre vinitted.] The Hound be hunted by the Hare, Than I turn Rebel to the Fair.

'Twas you engag'd me first to write,
Then gave the Subje& out of Spite:
The Journal of a modern Dame
Is by my Promise what

you

claim:
My Word is paft, I must subnuit;
And yet perhaps you may be bir.
I but tranfcribe, for not a Line
Of all the Satyr Íhall be mine.

COMPELL’d by you to tag in Rhimes, The common Slanders of the Times,

Vol. II.

Q

Of

Of modern Times; the Guilt is yours,
And me my Innocence secures.

UNWILLING Muse begin thy Lay, The Annals of a Female Day.

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By Nature turn'd to play the Rake-well, (As we shall shew you in the Sequel) The modern Dame is wak'd by Noon, Some Authors say, not quite so soon; Becaufe, though sore against her Will, She sat all Night up at Quadrill. She stretches, gapes, unglues her Eyes, And asks if it be time to rise; Of Head-ach, and the Spleen complains; And then to cool her heated Brains, (Her Night-gown and her Slippers brought her,) Takes a large Dram of Citron-Water. Then to her Glass; and Betty', pray “ Don't I look frightfully To-day? “ But, was it not confounded hard?

Well, if I ever touch a Card: Four Mattadores, and lose Codill! Depend upon't, I never will.

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«

But « But run to Tom, and bid him fix is

The Ladies here To-night by Six.” Madami, the Goldsmith waits below, He says, his Business is to know If you'll redeem the Silver Cup He keeps in Pawn?" Why, shew him up. Your Dressing-Plate, he'll be content To take, for Interest Cent. per Cent. And, Madam, there's my Lady Spade Hath sent this Letter by her Maid. 66 Well, I remember what she won; " And hath she fent fo 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 usual Theme; Her last Night's ill Success repeats; Calls Lady Spade a Hundred Cheats : She flipt Spadillo in her Breast, Then thought to turn it to a Jeft. There's Mrs. Cut and the combine, And to each other give the Sign.

Through

Through every Game pursues her Tale,
Like Hunters o'er their Evening Alé.

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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;
Observe this Pattern; there's a Stuff!
I can have Customers enough.
Dear Madam, you are grown so hard,
This Lace is worth Twelve Pounds a Yard :
Madam, if there be Truth in Man,
I never fold fo cheap a Fan.

This Bufiness of Importance o'er, And Madam almost dress’d by Four; The Footman, in his usual Phrase, Comes up with, Madam, Dinner stays; She answers in her usual Style, “ The Cook must keep it back a while ; " I never can have Time to dress, 6 No Woman breathing takes up less; « I'm hurry'd so, it makes me fick, 6 I wish the Dinner at Old Nick."

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