And make as terrible a racket,
As ever did

a woman's clack yet,

13 As ever did a woman's clack yet.

13

Notwithstanding what Swift, and other gentlemen of the order of Cynicks, have said or sung to the disparagement of the fair sex, and notwithstanding the many rebuffs I have myself received, whenever I have attempted to win the heart of any divinityship, above the order of a Billingsgate lady, still I had supposed the fair sex, although the weaker ves sel, were entitled to a great share of our indulgence and protection; and could not of consequence so well discover the motives actuating those philosophers who have endeavoured to persuade us, that the fairer half of mankind were made merely for the purpose of being a thorn in the side of the other half. But my wife, as before intimated, (page 53) being an intolerable scold, I have, at length, become a complete woman hater, and have as great an antipathy to a female as ever a toad had to a spider.

I have, however, formerly had so much experience in love affairs, that for twenty years past, I have thought myself amply qualified to set up for a sort of love casuist; have given much good advice respecting the best mode of adjusting all affairs of the heart, and have acquitted myself much to the satisfaction of those ladies and gentlemen, who have consulted me on the occasion.

Now, as you are about to commence a most terrible combat, from which it is ten to one if one in ten of your honourable body ever return alive, I could wish, out of the superabundance of my humanity, that you should enjoy life as much as possible, before you are "killed off," or, as our best modern philosophers (Dr. Darwin and others) would

g

For should you sound a loud alarum,
Perhaps you may so sadly scare e'm,

have it, go to sleep, and therefore regale you, for a moment with certain love songs, which may be either said or sung to the tune of O Cupid forever.

One doctor De Squirt
Had married a flirt

Not quite half so old as himself, sir,
And she, though a beauty,
Still thought it her duty

To have him for sake of his pelf, sir.

A neighbouring clerk
Spruce, handsome, and smirk,

A genteel and amorous blade, sir,
One night, it is said,
Found the way to his bed,

And the doctor a cuckold was made, sir.

When the doctor this heard
Revenge was the word,

To the younker a challenge he sent, sir,
To kill the young dog

As dead as a log

No doubt was his bloody intent, sir.

But the lusty young spark,
Was as fierce as a shark,

Swore he'd be our Oliver's Rowland,
And that he intended

Ere the matter was ended

To lay him at full length below land.

Like frighted sheep, they'll huddle right in
The Old Nick's den, without much fighting.

The doctor first shot,
And kill him-did not;

Though the fellow had lain with his wife, sir,
The buck fir'd so straight,

Though he miss'd the man's pate,

He made him a cripple for life, sir.

Thus the doctor bought wit
But paid dear for it

As is, to be sure, not uncommon,
Found it not a good plan
For an old gentleman

To marry a pretty young woman.

The other song with which I shall oblige you is quite a tid bit of sentimentality, and cannot fail to wonderfully titillate your right worshipfuls' intellectual palates.

THE FORTUNE HUNTER.

A young buck married an
Old haggard harridan,

And all for the sake of her money, sir,
Quite toothless and shrivel'd,
Like a witch that's bedevil'd,
So he lov'd her no better than honey, sir.

And now, having cash, sir,
He cut a great dash, sir,

And kept half a dozen sweet misses,
Who gave him great pleasure
In hours of his leisure,

But dearly he paid for their kisses.

Just so a gang of Indian savages,
When they set out to make great ravages,

With war-whoop fright their foes (God help 'em)

And then proceed to kill and scalp 'em.

But now, ere further we proceed,
To set forth every mighty deed,

With his horses and hounds
He dash'd beyond bounds,
Was noted for vast hospitality,
And went to each rout
The country about,

And liv'd with the top of the quality.

There ne'er was a squire
Drank more or liv'd higher,

Till at thirty, without any doubt he
In looks was as old

As if fourscore he'd told,

Besides being terribly gouty.

Thus through life he dances
Till all his finances

Wont purchase a dram for his whistle
He then makes a horrid
Great hole in his forehead

By help of an old borrow'd pistol!

This, gentlemen, is a specimen of my powers in the sentimental, pathetick and love lorn: what succeeds in this grand performance will be in regular gradation, from the sublime to the dreadful, till I arrive at the acme of the horrid, where I shall take leave of your worships with all the sang froid imaginable.

We must exchange (tho' horrour stiffen ye)
Our Clio for a fell Tisiphone!

For when we do these wretches batter,

'Twill be no water gruel matter; And you'll agree then, I assure ye, My muse is well chang'd for a fury.

Thou spite! thou hag! thou witch! thou spectre! Friend Southey's crony and protector : 14

14 Friend Southey's crony and protector!

Nothing but the most urgent necessity could have induced me to have formed any intimacy with the haggard harridan, which my friend substituted for a muse, in giving birth to the 9th book of his epick poem, called Joan of Arc. Wishing for some kind of celestial influence (as is customary on similar occasions) to assist in describing the dreadful battle we are about to commence, I sought, in due form, the aid of Apollo, the tuneful nine, Della Crusca's "GENIUS OR MUSE," and all the gods, goddessess, entities, or nonentities, who were ever known to lift a poor poet from the bathos of profundity to the hupsos of sublimity. But not one of their deityships would risk his or her neck and reputation in our perilous rencontre. I was, of course, driven as my denier resort, to this old fury.

If your worships have any ambition for a further acquaintance with this poetical non-descript, you will turn to the aforesaid 9th book of " Joan of Arc," and between the 20th and 40th lines, you will find a " female" guiding a "crazy vessel" with a " spread sail before the wind," " that