Translation and Literature

It has been fabled (and it may be so,)
That Chastity resided once below;
But t'was when Saturn o'er the World had sway,
And Men in subterraneous Caverns lay;
Where, with their House-hold Gods, they Cattle kept,
And under one dark Roof together slept.
When the good-wife – (what different cares engage
The Cynthias, and the Lesbias, of our age,
Who, if a Sparrow or a Monkey dies,
With Tears efface the lustre of their eyes)	10
When the good-Wife, on barren Mountains bred,
With skins of Beasts and leaves prepared the bed;
And at her prominent, unwieldy Breast,
Of bulk much fitter to be tapp'd, than prest,
With ever-running streams of wholesome food,
Nourish'd with pleasure her Gigantic brood;
Whilst by her side (tho' hideous to the sight)
Her windy Husband belch'd and snor'd all night.
But then, indeed, the World was fresh and young,
The Sky above Men's heads but lately hung;	20
For whether on the teeming Oak they grew,
Or from the quick'ning Mud existence <drew,>
No Sires they had, no Laws their steps to guide,
Nature and common Reason both supplied.
Some traces yet of Chastity remain'd,
When Jove, but Jove as yet unbearded, reign'd;
Long e're the Grecian policy began,
With new-invented Oaths to fetter Man;
When none were taught (a custom then unknown)
To swear by others' heads, or by their own;	30
Blest age! when Truth spoke only from the heart,
And Men were honest without help of art!
When what their common parent Earth produc'd,
Each, as his wants requir'd, as freely us'd;
No thieves to pilfer from the public Store – [End Page 51]
No bolts or bars to shut the cabbin-door –
In open Huts they slept, on Pulse they fed,
The Sky their Canopy, the Earth their Bed.
But as the World grew more and more refin'd,
From Justice Men insensibly declin'd;	40
Her Laws disclaim'd, Astræa fled away,
And Chastity on Earth no more wou'd stay;
For 'tis no modern crime, my Friend, to stain
The Genial Bed, and break the Nuptial chain;
All other crimes the Iron Age produc'd,
The Sex was ever prone to be abus'd;
The Silver-Age which follow'd that of Gold,
Saw Cuckoldom in Capitals inscroll'd.
And yet, oh! Posthumus, thou seek'st a Wife,
A partner in an age like this, for Life!	50
The Ring perhaps is bought, the Cloaths bespoke,
The Contract sign'd, which nothing can revoke;
Already on thy Chin the Barber tries
His skill, and trims thee for the Sacrifice.
Has Posthumus his Wits, and will he wed?
What sudden fury has disturb'd his head?
Is there no Rope, no Bridge, no Window nigh,
Where thou mayst hang, or drown, or fairly die?
Or, if thou yet would'st live – No pathic B—
Whom thou mayst freely, as thou lik'st, enjoy?	60
One who with broils will not disturb thy rest,
Nor plague thee nightly for some fond request;
Who never counts thy sighs, as Women will,
But moves when bid, and when forbid lies still.
But Posthumus approves the Julian Law,
Children unborn his fond affections draw;
He wants an Heir, and willingly forgoes
The presents each Hæredipete bestows;
The mighty Turtle that all Fish excels –
The bearded Mullett which so dearly sells –	70
Whatever dainties the full Market vends,
And each Will-hunter to his Patron sends. [End Page 52]
Let Miracles henceforth full credit gain,
If ever Posthumus puts on the chain;
If he, whom Comic Bards so oft have play'd,
So oft a public Spectacle have made,
When in a Basket hid he fill'd the Stage,
And artfully escaped the Husband's rage;
If he, the noted Stallion of the Town,
To take the bit in, stoops thus tamely <down.>	80
But Posthumus would have a virtuous Wife –
Bleed him, ye Doctors, and preserve his Life!
What – in so lewd an age, expect to find
Morals beyond the pitch of Woman-kind!
Bend rather, Posthumus, and Jove adore,
If thou escape, the Husband's Lot, a Whore.
To Juno's shrine, a milk-white Heifer bring,
And crown the Victim with a golden Ring;
Then pay thy grateful thanks, and bless thy Lot
If chance bestows a Wife without a spot;	90
For search the Sex, and find out one so pure,
Whom Ceres in her Temple can endure;
Find one whose blood is so subdu'd and tame,	{J. 50}
Whom ev'n a Father's kiss shall not inflame:
Then all thy doors with flow'ry Garlands grace,
And Ivy branches on the Threshold place.
"But Iberine's temper is not such –
"One Man would be enough, perhaps too much" –
One Man enough! One Eye as soon wou'd do
For Woman, when she has the choice of two.	100
"But Country Ladies have some sense of shame" –
Country or City-bred – 'tis just the same.
'Tis not the place where she was born or bred,
That can secure the future Husband's head;
Can she be said with Chastity to live,
Because a Farm temptations cannot give?
Let her to Gabii or Fidenæ come,
Or try the pleasures of imperial Rome;
There let her live unsullied, if she can, [End Page 53]
And be contented with a single Man.	110
But tho' the danger may be greater here,
A Farm-bred Wife may furnish cause for fear;
Bleak Hills and Caverns are not yet so cold,
Nor are great Jupiter, and Mars, quite old.
To Temples go, to Theaters repair –
Is there one single Woman worth thy care?
One, for a Wife whom thou may'st safely take,
Whom thou wou'd'st cull and chuse for her own sake?
Take one from Thuscia or Apulia bought,
How soon the rude, unpolish'd Thing is taught!	120
The nimble Dancer now ascends the Stage,
His wanton gestures ev'ry sense engage,
Each various posture, which the Dance displays,
Their artless Sensibility betrays.
One leaks as on the bench she gaping sits,
Another howls and grins, as if in fits;
A third each motion follows with her eyes,
And ecchoes to each motion with her sighs.
Each learns at sight – from knowledge practice flows,
The Novice a consummate Adept grows.	130
Others there are, who when the Shews give o're,
Handle the Vestments which the Actors wore;
And, quite impatient at their long recess,
Assume their parts, and in their Habits dress.
The Vine-crown'd spear he trail'd with so much grace,
The personating Mask upon his face,
His very Breeches (tho' they leave them bare)
Upon their naked Thighs they love to wear.
Ælia, who has no relish for the Grave,
Will Attellanic verses only have;	140
Too poor to purchase what her Lust might cool,
She turns ev'n Lust itself to ridicule.
Others, whom the lewd Mimic's postures fire,
Able and willing too, to pay his hire,
Brook no delay, but bid him strait untie
His Points, and with them in that moment lie.
Others again, who languish for a Voice,
Deprive themselves of their own proper choice;
And tho' upon his melting sounds they doat,
Will cool their Letch'ry, tho' they crack his throat.	150
The buskin'd Hero charms Hispulla's heart, [End Page 54]
Oh! with what energy he plays his part!
How must he touch! How please! How move her Soul,
When in her Arms intranc'd he plays his Roll!
Say then, since such rich objects Women move,
What Man of sense, or worth, can they approve?
Who weds a Wife but weds her, to enjoy
The common Mistress of some singing Boy –
Some Harper's, Wrestler's Trull, to cross his breed,
And be his Children's Father in his stead.	160
Then, like our fellow-Players of the age,
Let us within our Houses raise a Stage;
With Laurel branches crown our folding Doors,
Our Beds with Nets, with Carpets spread our Floors,
Then, like fam'd Lentulus, in our Babe's face,
The features of some rough Gladiator trace.
See how her Senator rank Hippia leaves,
And to her brawny Gladiator cleaves;
Egypt receives the Strumpet on her shore,
And blushes at so exquisite a Whore.	170
Her Cities cannot parallel her mind,
And own, in Vice she leaves them all behind.
While she, regardless of her Children's Tears,
Their moving Innocence, and tender Years,
Forsakes her Husband, Sister, House, Estate,
Her Country, and the ties that on it wait,
And (dearer still than her own native home)
Leaves Paris and the Spectacles of Rome.
Yet she, tho' bred in affluence and ease,
Whose only study was her Taste to please,	180
Who from her Cradle was at wish supplied,
With ev'ry thing to feed her state and pride;
(For educated thus, each high-born Dame
Holds as the least of losses, loss of fame)
Fearless the dangers of each Sea will try,
Content with whom she loves to live and die.
But on some honest purpose bid them go,
What fear! what dread! what terror do they show!
No office of their limbs can they command, [End Page 55]
They shake, and cannot move a foot, or hand.	190
Yet, howe'er base, let Pleasure be their view,
How boldly what they wish for, will they do!
"Come, climb the Ship, My Dear" – The Husband cries,
A sudden dizziness attacks her Eyes;
How foul the Water smells, how thick the air!
Can her weak Stomach such disorders bear!
But let the lov'd Adult'rer on her call,
Her Stomach's strong enough to bear it all.	{J. 100}
One with the Men will mess – The Yards will brace –
The other Vomit in her Husband's face.	200
But say, what Youth, what Beauty could engage?
What warm lewd Hippia to such height of rage?
What could she see, that she should thus disclaim
Her Husband's for a base Gladiator's name?
For Sergius was not young – His Beard was shav'd –
His Arms the Sword's keen point for Years had brav'd –
His Face was hideous – On his front he bore
The Helmet's marks which on his head he wore;
A monstrous Tumor from his Nostrils grew,
And his Eyes rop'd with ever-running glew.	210
But Sergius was a Bruiser – That alone
Can make an Hyacinth of Skin and Bone;
That great Prerogative that more endears
Than Children's, Sister's, Husband's, Country's tears;
For 'tis not Beauty singly that can move –
The heart of Iron is the thing they love;
The fierce, the Savage temper steep'd in grain,
Untouch'd by pity, unsubdu'd by pain.
Sergius, no longer on the public Scene,
Had just as hateful as Vejento been.	220
But what is this? A petty, trifling part!
A wanton sally of an am'rous heart!
Enlarge the Circle! Rise to Royal Life,
And hear what Claudius suffer'd from his <Wife.>
Scarcely Imperial Cæsar shuts his Eyes,
When to the Brothel Messalina flies;
A Matt, or Bed of Straw, more welcome there,
Than Beds of State, however rich or rare! [End Page 56]
A Strumpet's Mantle o'er her Shoulders thrown,
A tour of yellow hair to hide her own,	230
One single Maid attends her to the place,
Disguising, as she walks the Street, her face.
Behold her now – the better to inflame –
Assume some noted prostitute's great name;
And to her Cell, which as her own she hires,
Yet reeking with impurity, retires;
And now, fierce transports eager to excite,
She bares her beauteous Bosom to the sight;
Nor blushes ev'n that sacred part to show,
Where thou, Brittanicus, first Life did'st know!	240
Half-naked now, and wild with burning rage,
She yet a price will for her charms engage;
Her am'rous Dalliance no distinction makes,
The first who bids the Sum, possession takes.
At length, the hour for her departure come,
When night far-spent sends ev'ry Strumpet home;
The marks of Lust still glowing on her skin,
All foul without, and ting'ling yet within;
She sighs – and willing still some time to stay –
Cannot perswade herself to go away;	250
At last, compell'd from her rank Cell she starts,
And tir'd, but not yet satisfied, departs;
Where, foul with ev'ry stench that can disgust,
Raving, and mad'ning, still, with unquench'd Lust,
With glowing Cheeks, and with disorder'd face,
She mounts the Royal Bed, and scents the place;
And on Great Cæsar, robb'd of his repose,
The filthy Leavings of a Stew bestows!
But these are crimes which Lust, mere Lust, will teach;
Far, far beyond, their other passions reach;	260
Bond-Slaves to Temper, to its dictates true,
What will they not, when Temper urges, do!
Mark, when their am'rous Philters they prepare, [End Page 57]
How close they watch the drippings of the Mare!
With what deep art the poison'd Cup they fill,
An Husband, or a Son in law, to kill!
What Charms, what Incantations they employ,
When hate, revenge, or anger, bids destroy!
White is her Soul whom tend'rer Passions move –
No Passion half so innocent as Love.	270
"This may hit some – But try the numbers round –
"Sure one good Woman may at last be found!
"Cesennia's Virtue fix'd her Husband's choice,
"Her conduct has the public's, and his, voice." –
Cesennia brought a Fortune to his arms,
Who brings a Fortune wants no other charms;
He weigh'd her Virtue by her weight in Gold;
The Man was not in Love, but fairly sold –
The splendid Dow'r obfuscated his Eye –
Wealth lit the Torch, and bad the Arrow fly.	280
Who weds a Miser, only pays her Fees,
To be a down right Widow when she <please.>
But other causes may to Love excite,
Sertorius lov'd his Bibula at sight.
He did, 'tis true – for Bibula was fair,
The Face did all – The Wife had little share –
For let but three small Wrinkles mark her face,
Or Age the Muscles of her Skin unbrace;
Let some sharp humor her sound Teeth decay,
Or her once sparkling Eyes but dimly play;	290
"March, march" (the freed-Man cries) "My Lord commands –
"Already you grow stale upon our hands –
"Your Nose is never dry – You make us sick –
"Begone I say – Nay, no resistance – quick –
"We have another younger in our view,
"Whose Nose may yet be dry, a year or two."
While she, unconscious of impairing Years,
Affecting Youth, at home still domineers;
Asks Sheep and Cattle to supply her Board,	{J. 150}
And Wine, the best Falernian Grapes afford;	300
How small a Boon is this – a piece of ground,
Cost what it will, must for her use be found; [End Page 58]
A quantity of Slaves must now be brought –
An Overseer by whom they may be taught –
Nothing too rare in Silk, Brocade or Stuff –
Her neighbor has them – is not that enough?
No peace – if any Bawble strikes her eye;
Shall she want anything which Gold can buy?
Let other Merchants live at home at ease,
Nor tempt, while Winter rages, boist'rous Seas;	310
No Season stops, no arguments avail,
The Ship is fitted, and the fool must sail.
Each distant Region he must tread, to find
Crystal or Porcelaine Vases to her mind;
Cups of all sorts, with costly Gems inlaid,
And Goblets of the Tears of Myrrh-Trees made;
Nay, if she asks for Berenice's ring,
It must be purchas'd from Judæa's King;
Who, Slave to custom (as their Scriptures say),
Bare-footed celebrates their Sabbath Day;	320
Whilst Hoggs more honor'd than the Sov'reign Prince,
The folly of their holy Rites evince;
For these from daily pastime never cease,
But live each day alike, and die in peace.
"What, none, among such numbers to be found!
"What, none, in Principles, and Morals, sound!"
Not one, my Friend – allow her ev'ry grace,
Let her descend from an illustrious race –
Rich – decent – fruitfull – beyond fancy fair –
And chaste as uncomb'd Sabine Matrons were;	330
(Tho such a Woman seen on Earth wou'd be
A coal-black Swan – a very Prodigy.)
Yet say, however mild, what Husband cou'd
Endure a Wife superlatively good?
Rather from Venusinum let me take
A Wife, whom to my humor I might break,
Than one who from a race of Heroes springs,
And for her Dow'r, their mighty Actions brings.
Not thou, Cornelia, tho' thy virtues blaze
Above the reach of Envy or of Praise,	340 [End Page 59]
Not thou, with ev'ry Virtue in thy pow'r,
Could to thy Husband give one happy <Hour,>
If with their Lustre thou putt'st on the frown,
That humbled Syphax, and pull'd Carthage down.
Hence, then, great Mother of the Gracchi, hence;
At home such wrangling Virtues give offence;
Nor Hannibal, nor Syphax there we know –
Hence – hence – and with thee all thy Carthage go.
"Spare, Phœbus, spare (distrest Amphion cries),
"Hold back thy darts, great Goddess of the Skies –	350
"My Boys have nothing done – My Children spare –
"Let Niobe who sinn'd, your anger bear."
In vain – The Mother's pride had doom'd their fall –
Apollo and Diana slew them all;
Their Children kill'd for grief, Amphion died,
And Niobe in Marble weeps her pride.
Her pride – in Heav'n no equal to allow –
On Earth – to be more pregnant than a Sow.
Say then, my Friend, since Pride so taints the mind,
What joy in Wedlock can a Husband find?	360
What joy to him, tho' bless'd with ev'ry grace,
If still she throws those blessings in his face;
For where pride once the mind and body stains,
The sweet flies off, the bitterness remains.
And not one Husband to himself can say,
"I do not hate my Wife sev'n hours a day."
Some faults indeed are small – it may be so –
But faults are faults, and these no Wife shou'd show.
What sounds more jarring to a Husband<'s Mind,>
Than blust'ring Greek at ev'ry turn to <find?>	370
For now the fashion is to gabble Greek,
And in their Mother tongue forget to speak;
No Woman now esteems her fair or young,
Unless Greek Accents trickle from her Tongue;
And tho' 'tis height of impudence and shame,
The Language Nature gave them, they disclaim!
All must be Greek – Grief, Anger, Terror, Care –
Their very Joys the Grecian garb must wear;
The secret over flowings of the heart
In Greek they to their Confidants impart;	380
Nay! when they give and take the fond Caress,
Greek Aspirations must their Joys express. [End Page 60]
But this, indeed, when Youth and Beauty fire,
May quicken Transport, and fresh warmth inspire;
But when old age has snow'd upon the head,
And ev'ry charm that shou'd excite is fled,
How sweetly sounds, when the fond minute comes,
ZΩH‵KAI‵ΨYXH‵, from her toothless Gums!
Yet she, delighted with the pleasing sound,
ZΩH‵KAI‵ΨYXH's her acquaintance round.	390
Yet tho' soft words to am'rous rage excite,
And softest touches cannot more delight;
Tho' far beyond Carpophorus his throat,
Or Hemus, when he swells the trilling Note,
Her Voice should charm – her wrinkled face wou'd prove
A sov'reign Antidote against her love;
Her Lover's wings would droop – his pride decay,
And all her promis'd joys dissolve away.
But if thou lov'st not whom thou seek'st <to wed,>	{J. 200}
Why bring such cost and trouble on thy <head?>	400
Why ev'ry customary Gift prepare,
To grace the Feast thy Guests alone will share?
If, still more void of sense, thou lov'st thy Wife,
Prepare to be a bond-Slave all thy Life;
For 'tis the constant maxim of the Sex,
To trample on the most submissive necks;
No Woman that once found her Husband lov'd,
To any sense of duty yet was mov'd.
Nay, 'tis their joy, tho' doating to excess,
To wring his heart, and make his Fortunes less;	410
"No Man should marry, then" – He least of all,
Whose very Qualities for Marriage call;
To one in whom such Qualities we see,
Nothing more useless than a Wife can be.
What Husband dare, unless his Wife consent,
The smallest Gift to any Friend present?
To buy or sell, and not consult her will –
No – No – at home she will be Mistress still.
His very passions, and affections too,
Must, from her will, receive the proper cue.	420 [End Page 61]
"What, see a Friend, if I dislike the Man!
"Bear it who will, for me – I never can!"
What Man so infamous, but may by Law,
His Will, or Testament, at pleasure draw?
What Husband dare – The Will the Wife must make,
And those, who wrong thee most, thy Fortune <take.>
"Hang up that Slave" – "What has he done, my dear?
"What proofs of guilt – what Witnesses appear?
"In cases where the Life the debt must pay,
"No respite can be constru'd long delay."	430
"No respite can – are Slaves like other Men? –
"Suppose the wretch has nothing done, what then?" –
"Hang him, and if you ask the reason – know –
"It is my pleasure, and it shall be so."
But not content with pow'r unless it spread,
They quit one Husband, and another wed;
Then to their former back again return,
And whom they chuse to day, to morrow spurn;
The boughs yet green that grac'd the Second's door,
The marriage-veil as spotless as before.	440
Thus changing still, from Man to Man they fly,
And eight (for more the Law refuses) try.
Oh! what a Scroll to grave upon her Tomb!
Here lies – Who held eight Husbands in her Womb.
If in thy House a step-Mother should live
(What greater curse can adverse Fortune give!)
Expect no peace – Thy well instructed Wife,
Aided by her, will be a plague for Life;
Practic'd herself in ev'ry wicked art,
Her cunning to thy Wife she will impart.	450
Profuse in all things, she will leave thee bare,
And with her Pimps and Bawds thy riches share;
Love-Letters she will learn in stile to write,
And introduce her Stallions day and night.
Watches are sett in vain – She blinds their Eyes,
Or into Pandars turns thy very Spies.
Taught in full health, sham sicknesses to feign,
The Doctor must be fetch'd to ease her pain;
The Husband runs – Too heavy to be born,
Then Bed-Cloaths now must from her side be torn –	460
Whilst from behind the bed the Lover steals,
And without Galen's art the Patient heals. [End Page 62]
For morals with the Stamina descend,
Bad Mothers ever in bad Daughters end;
The Mother thrives who such a Daughter breeds,
And in her Child renew'd, herself succeeds.
What Courts of Justice from their Broils are free?
To day they join, to morrow disagree!
If as Defendants they have no dispute,
They will turn Plaintiffs, and commence a Suit;	470
Pleas, Libels, Arguments, and Briefs, will draw,
And tell the Judge, and Lawyer, what is Law.
Drest as Gladiators, and bedawb'd with Oil,
How well they bear each rough Athletic toil!
When in the field of Mars their skill they try,
And in their Manly Sports with Men will vie;
When on the Post deep buryed in the ground,
They strike, and drive the fleeting shivers round.
'Tis Courage fires, not Nakedness that shames,	{J. 250}
Or they would celebrate the Floral Games;	480
For whilst in Armor drest their Sex they b<ear,>
What sense of Modesty can Women <share?>
Yet Mannish as they are in outward show,
They would not for the World their Sex forgoe;
What! change the great Prerogative they boast!
Who give, may feel, who give and take, feel most.
What joy to see in some large Auction Room!
Her Belt, her Gauntlets and her nodding Plume!
Her Leg-piece when the Nett she tries to cast,
Her thick-ribb'd Greaves, which hold her Ancles fast!	490
Yet these at times in thinnest Silks will sweat,
And nothing slight enough to wear can get;
But in the Field returning from the fight,
With what keen sense their actions they recite!
How loud the voice, how masculine the look!
How they describe the blows, they gave and took!
"My knees were strong – I stoop'd, but that was all –
"I rose, and did not get one single fall –
"My Casque was heavy, but I never felt,
"My Robes, I gather'd close within my Belt –	500
"Hard driv'n indeed, but still I kept the Field, [End Page 63]
"And forc'd my Enemy at last to yield."
Then own, when Nature calls for certain ease,
How ill their posture, and new Sex, agrees!
Blush, ye chast Matrons of the Fabian line,
Whose Virtues with unblemish'd lustre shine;
From blind Metellus who your lineage bring,
Or from great Lepidus, Rome's Censor, <spring;>
Blush, when our noblest Wives such sports <do chuse>
Which ev'n Gladiators Wives wou'd scorn <to use.>	510
No sleep in bed for him – She raves and scolds –
Reply, or not, her Tongue she never holds.
Guilty herself, her crimes as his she feigns –
No Tygress robb'd, so loud as she complains.
She hates her Children, her sad fate deplores,
Or twits him with imaginary Whores.
Her ready tears pursue one constant course,
And ebb or flow as she directs their force.
The cheated Husband thinks her grief sincere,
Absorbs, with trembling lips, each falling tear;	520
And, like the foolish Bird, the Eggs receives,
Which in his Nest each strag'ling Cuckoo leaves.
Blind wretch! her Casket open, read, and see,
How well her Jealousy and Life agree!
Detected, caught, and taken in the fact –
The case is clear – now for thy Client act.
A Knight, a Slave, was found within her bed –
What colors, Quintilianus, can'st thou spread?
What! mute? Hear her herself – "You know, My Life,
"When I resolv'd to be your loving Wife;	530
"'Twas covenanted, promis'd, and agreed,
"That each, the Life we lik'd the best, shou'd lead;
"The contract binds us both – What can you say?
"Take you your own – For I will have my way.
"Rave, storm, vex, frett – you hurt your self alone,
"I am a Woman, and will keep my own."
Nothing so bold, unmask'd to public view,
Guilt gives them Spirit, and Resentment too.
But would'st thou know, whence these disorders <flow?>
From Wealth they rise, with Luxury they <grow.>	540
In ancient times, e'er Rome knew what was waste,
Labor and poverty kept women chaste.
No time for Vice – No dainties to excite – [End Page 64]
They work'd all day and hardly slept at night;
Their hands were hard, their Bodies coarsely clad,
Whatever Industry could get, they had;
Whilst, hov'ring near their Walls, the Punic Chief
Call'd ev'ry Husband hourly to Relief.
Long Peace ensued – when, fiercer far than Arms,
Prevailing Luxury diffus'd her Charms;	550
Her various Streams corrupting as they ran,
Reveng'd the World of her proud Victor, Man.
No Crime, no Lust, that Ease could teach, but took,
When Roman poverty our Walls forsook.
From Greece, and Asia, it o'erspread the Land,
And ev'ry City bow'd to its command.
Gold first with foreign Taste subdued the mind,
And introduced a manner more refin'd;
Our ancient Morals soon gave way to new,
And ev'ry Virtue out of fashion grew;	560
Ev'n Love, which to it self alone shou'd owe
Its pow'r, and from its proper fountain flow,	{J. 300}
Now calls for Bacchus to provoke desire,
And warm their Breasts, with more transcendent fire.
When Wine gives heat to Lust, and both inflame,
Away with ev'ry foolish sense of shame;
Their quickned ardor no distinction makes,
They riot in libidinous mistakes.
They call for Oysters at the dead of night,
And swill large draughts, to stimulate del<ight.>	570
The Lights burn double, and the bed turns round,
And ev'ry Table dances on the ground.
Doubt now their riots, if thou can'st, my Friend,
When Sex with Sex unnaturally blend;
How soft the sound when, snuffling thro' the nose,
The filthy Tribad Tullia puffs and blows;
How sweet to Maura what Collacia says,
Near where her Statue Chastity displays;
For here they meet – Here practice ev'ry art
That can to Lust fresh poignancy impart;	580
Nor stop they here – Frolic and Mirth take place –
The humor hits – They Stale upon her Face; [End Page 65]
Then "prime as Goats, and salt as Wolves in pride",
The shameless Wretches on each other ride;
Next morning, e'er her Beams Aurora spreads,
The Husband in the filthy puddle treads.
What Tongue their Rites unblister'd can relate,
When they their Bona Dea celebrate!
When, rouz'd with the shrill flute, and Horn, they meet,
And Earth's deep Basis shakes beneath their feet;	590
When, flush'd with Wine, their furious Eyeballs glare,
And on their foreheads hang their scatter'd hair.
And now Priapus rushes on their Souls,
Each like mad Bacchæ for his Advent howls;
What rage for Action now! What wild desires!
How ev'ry word, and look, with madness fires!
Whilst moist with Sweat, and stain'd with trick'l<ing wine>
Their glist'ning Thighs with height'ned Colors <shine.>
Saufeia now throws by the Crown she wore,
And challenges the most abandon'd Whore;	600
Lesbiad and Tribad both – Her's was the Art,
To act alike the Male, or Female, part;
Prepar'd for action she distends her Thighs,
Receives each bold assault, and wins the prize.
Whilst Medullina's nimble movements show,
How one excells above, and one below;
For 'tis a point of honor both contest,
Who quickest moves, or who bears motion best;
No feints allow'd in this licentious strife,
No raptures, which they feel not to the life!	610
Old Priam at the sight could scarce contain,
And even Nestor would grow young again.
Prurient for Man – impatient of delay,
Mere Woman now cannot their rage allay;
A gen'ral madness seizes on them all,
"Let in the Men – the clam'rous Matrons call!
"'Tis lawfull now our sacred Rites to keep, [End Page 66]
"What, shall we wake, and our Adult'rers sleep!
"Bring him, but bring him in disguise – How! none!
"Then for the brawny Slaves, or Freed-Men run;	620
"If none are to be found, let others come,
"The Water-carrier in the Streets of Rome."
If these should fail – The patient Ass must try
His bestial Lust, and with the Priestess lie.
Oh! that our ancient Rites (as once) <might be>
From such libidinous Impurity <free.>
But Moors and Indians, mighty Cæsar, know
(Blacker than all thy Anticatos show)
The secret Anecdote, when screen'd by night
Ev'n there, where ev'ry Male thing shuns the sight,	630
The Pseudo-Singer hid in close disguise,
With sham devotion did thy Wife surprize.
Yet even then, our Gods were still rever'd,
And none at holy Ceremonies sneer'd;
The Vases, tho' of Earth, were held divine, –
The sacred Office sanctified the Shrine;
But now what Altar can its God protect?
Our Clodiuses all equally infect.
"Clap bolts upon the Doors – put Guards within" –
Clap bolts – put Guards – with these they first begin.	640
Alike in this, who trudges thro' the Street,	{J. 350}
Or whom, in Litters born by Slaves, we meet.
Too proud, tho' mean, tho' indigent yet vain,
Ogulnia never stirs without a train;
Changes of dress, soft pillows for her head –
A neat Sedan, a Carpet, in it spread
Friends on each side like Clients to appear –
A Nurse, and waiting Woman, in the rear –
Yet she, who from her small Estate should save,
Like other Women, must her bruizer have;	650
To him, whatever she can get, she sends,
Till, with the gift of all, her bounty ends.
Many are poor – but Who e're blush'd with sh<ame>
Lest others shou'd their lavish Living <blame?>
They blush that Fate such scanty means should give,
Their sense of shame is – within bounds to live. [End Page 67]
Men are not so – in Men we sometimes find
With poverty a well-adapted Mind;
Taught by the frugal Ant the saving art,
In this we act, at least, the prudent part.	660
Whil'st Women, prodigal as well as bold,
Conceive no mould'ring property in Gold;
But, as the ebbing Streams of wealth they drain,
Expect the spring will bubble up again;
They never ask how high their pleasures rise,
To live expensively is all they prize.
There are by whom soft Eunuchs are preferr'd,
Who love that Incapacity of beard –
How sweet the harmless kiss – How sweet indeed!
They hate preventive draughts, and wou'd not breed.	670
Critics in this, they have their rules for choice,
Nor are their hearts quite sett upon a voice;
Cutting when young may give the Silver tone,
But 'tis not that, which captivates alone;
When the big Nerve to its full growth extends,
And in two well-proportion'd Testes ends,
Then take, learn'd Artist, take the trenchant blade,
The Barber only suffers in his Trade.
Who gelds a Slave, and fits him for her use,
(For Women always by the stature chuse)	680
From public Bagnios single out The Slave,
With whom Priapus no contest cou'd have,
For there they go – the Size points out the <Man –>
Determine better on such points, who can.
Let such, oh! Posthumus, thy Wife enjoy,
But keep from their lewd touch thy pathic Boy;
Thy Wife unhurt, the Volume may contain,
But Bromius in their arms wou'd shrink with pain.
If public Singers chance to be the Taste,
What Clasp can hold the bandage of their waist?	690
Mad for his voice, and madder for his touch,
They never think they have of each too much.
Hydemelè the vogue – his Lute they take,
And o'er the trembling Chords with transport shake; [End Page 68]
With sparkling Gems adorn the polish'd case,
And kiss it in it's absent Master's place.
Sprung from the Lamian Race, and great in name,
Behold upon her Knees the suppliant Dame;
"Grant Janus, Vesta," (piously she cries)
"Grant that my Pollio may obtain the prize;	700
"Grant that with oaken-leaves his head be bound,
"And his dear Lute emit the sweetest sound."
What more than this could any Wife have done,
For a sick Husband or an only Son!
Yet she unblushing at the Altar stood,
Spoke the set words, and wore the sacred hood;
And, whilst the Priest the bleeding Entrails took,
With ev'ry agony of Terror shook.
Say, Janus, who before all Gods did'st live,
What answers to such suppliants dost thou give?	710
Sure, to live indolent is all you love,
Or is there nothing worth your care above?
One for a Comic Actor asks a grace,
This claps the buskin'd Hero in his place;
Each plagues your Priests – incessantly employ'd,
Their legs grow Gouty, and their stomachs cloy'd;
But let Her love, and with her Singer lie,
Rather than round the City madly fly,
Or to each public spectacle repair,
Fond of the Coat of Mail and Martial air;	720
And in the Husband's presence, void of shame,
With wanton looks our Warriors' hearts inflame,
Whilst in return, their passion to excite,
She shews her naked Breasts to tempt the sight!
Inquisitive to know what e'er is done,
Quite thro' the Globe their busy fancies run;
As fond to hear what passes far from home,
As in each private Family in Rome;
Foreign, Domestic, Citizen, or King,	{J. 400}
The knowledge of the Scandal is the thing.	730
So curious their address and skill to show,
Each circumstance of Time and Place they know;
Each secret slip the step-Mother has made, [End Page 69]
Or who betrays in Love, or is betray'd;
What Widow took! when she began to breed!
And who it was that did the filthy deed!
Nay, they can tell, so cunning is their art,
If Greek or Latin sighs stole from her heart;
How many ways, how many times, he strove
To please her with repeated acts of Love.	740
If in the Sky some dreadful Comet shines,
She sees it first, and what it bodes, divines.
Armenia's King is threat'ned in the Tail,
And Parthian Arms no longer shall prevail.
If any rumor spreads, away she flies,
And at each Gate receives the diff'rent lies;
"Niphates has o'erflown – Armenia drown'd –
"Not a dry foot of Land is to be found" –
An Earthquake follows next – "proud Cities fall –
"Earth to her Center gapes, and swallows all;"	750
Stories like these she feigns, and in the Streets
Stops, and relates to ev'ry one she meets.
But, what is more intolerable yet,
Her wretched Neighbors no redress can get;
If in the smallest thing they fail to please,
The Bilboes or the Stocks must give her ease;
"Whose Dog is that which howls so loud to night?
"Go fetch his Master – whip him in my sight" –
"Then kill the Dog" – Disturb'd, she scowls and raves,
And in a fury summons in her Slaves;	760
"Prepare the Bath – The proper Vases bring –
"Give me the leaden-weights that I may swing" –
And now, enchanted with the noise they make,
Whilst the big Leavers in their Arms they shake,
She plunges in – "Come Sir, be quick of hand
"And rub me in each part as I command" –
The cunning Slave observes her glowing Eyes,
And ev'ry various Titillation tries;
No part escapes – till from her bursting heart,
Her sighs declare, how well he tops his part.	770
Mean time her Guests, half famish'd, half <asleep,> [End Page 70]
Impatient at her stay their places keep;
At last, all ruddy, glist'ning with perfume,
She flounces unexpected in the Room;
Seizes, and at one draught exhausts the Cup,
And in a second throws the Liquor up;
For 'tis a custom, e'er they take their seat,
To try a puke or two before they eat;
Then, strad'ling o'er the filth that stains the ground,
She takes her place, and puts the Goblet round.	780
The Stomach cleans'd, and free from loading pains,
Gains double strength, and twice as much contains;
No Serpent in a Vase of Liquor cast,
Swallows so much, or throws it up so fast;
The suff'ring Husband, fretted to the Soul,
Sees all, and scarcely can his rage controul.
And now, as stretch'd upon her Couch she lies,
She grows important, critical and wise;
She praises Virgil's majesty and grace,
And pities poor Eliza's wretched case;	790
Descants on Bards – their diff'rent Works compares –
Each, as her Genius roves, her censure shares;
One while, immortal Maro turns the Scales,
Now Homer's Genius over his prevails;
Grammarians, Rhetoricians, quit the field,
Each Guest to her superior noise must yield;
Lawyers and Cryers fam'd for brazen Lungs,
Sit mute, and even Women hold their Tongues!
Not plates and dishes falling on the ground,
Nor Chimes of Bells e'er utter'd such a sound!	800
The lab'ring Moon wants neither Steel nor Br<ass –>
Her noise alone wou'd make her labor pass;
Women like these, who ev'ry Science know,
Call Right and Wrong, what they determine so;
Then let them take the learned Robe, and tie
The sleeveless Tunic halfway down the Thigh;
Throw off the Sex at once – new Gods adore –
And to Silvanus sacrifice a Boar; [End Page 71]
Then, proud of superficial knowledge glean'd,
Go to the Baths, and for a Sous, get clean'd.	810
Of all the plagues that wait on human life,
None so tormenting as a learned Wife;
Let thine, oh! Posthumus, hard words forbear,
And all long-winded Enthymemas spare;
No studied Phrase, no labor'd pomp of speech,
No stile, but what plain common-sense may teach.
A little History does very well,	{J. 450}
But let her not on Books too closely dwell;
I hate a Wife whose ever open throat,
Will Palæmon at ev'ry sentence quote;	820
Who knows each Grammar-Rule he taught, by heart,
And beats the Pedant in his proper art;
Who, fond of Authors none but she e'er read,
With antiquated verses splits my head;
And, of her own superior learning vain,
Rails at her humble Friend, for speaking plain.
No Solæcism shall ever wound my peace,
So thou, Dear Wife, from disputations cease.
What bounds, when sparkling Jewels round them shine,
Can their pedantic Arrogance confine?	830
What can be wrong so fine a Woman says?
What licence from her Tongue, but merits praise?
Rich Women are a greater Torment still;
They have the means, and never want <the will.>
At home, and only in the Husband's sight,
What little pains she takes to give delight!
Plaister'd with grease in the Poppæn taste,
Her Visage one continu'd Mask of Paste,
What Joy to kiss her Lips, and from her Mouth,
Draw ranker breath, than from the foggy South.	840
But if the Lover comes, how nice her care!
What art, Cosmetic Washes to prepare!
India must drain each Aromatic store,
And all Arabia breath thro' ev'ry pore.
At last, when from her Face the Plaister falls, [End Page 72]
And we see nothing but the naked Walls,
Each Ass to furnish Milk must starve its Foal,
And travel with her to the Northern Pole.
Then say, thus physic'd, wash'd, and plaister'd o'er,
Is it a Face we see, or running Sore?	850
But let us now with curious eye survey,
How they employ their time at home all day?
If cold and dull at night the Husband lies,
Next day her Woman falls a sacrifice;
"A careless Slutt! Come, Hussey, will you strip?
"Your back I find still Itches for the Whip –
"Where is the Chamberlain? Why stays he so?
"That Rascal never will his Duty know" –
For when the Husband fails to give content,
Their anger on their guiltless Slaves they vent;	860
Mean time she lays on all – Whip, Cudgel, Thong –
All flay – no matter whether right or wrong!
The Joy is to behold the back so red,
Or Cudgel snapping on the broken head;
This, more refin'd, applys for help to art,
And hires her hangmen to perform the part;
And whilst her eyes the bloody gashes trace,
Turns carefully about, and paints her Face!
Or bids her Friend the diff'rent rays behold
That dart from mingled Threads of Silk and Gold;	870
Or o'er her Day-Book pores – then, turning round,
(Her words like ratt'ling peals of Thunder sound)
"Begone, cries she, our diff'rent tasks are done,
"But come to morrow with the rising Sun."
Not the Sicilian Tyrant's savage Court
E'er saw such deeds, as she performs in sport.
But now her humor is to take the air,
Or to some secret Rendezvous repair;
Her Lover waits at the appointed place –
Her business now is splendor, taste and grace –	880
Bare to the Waiste her trembling Woman stands,
Scar'd by the Horse-whip in her Lady's hands. [End Page 73]
"Why is this Tour so high?" – The lash descends,
And round her naked Breasts and Shoulders bends.
What has she done? alas! the Mirror shows
(Can Psecas help it) a distorted nose.
Another now to mend her fault essays,
And turns each Curl a thousand diff'rent ways.
A Council next must sit upon her dress,
And Each in order must her sense express;	890
An ancient Maid from household duty freed,
Skill'd in the Bodkin's use, first takes the lead;
The next in age, in station and degree,	{J. 500}
Pronounce their judgment, and no fault can <see.>
Such is the pride that in their bosoms reigns,
Life, Fame, and Honor, ask inferior pains.
And now, with Curls one o'er another spread,
A mighty pile of building on her head;
View her before, Andromache seems small,
Behind, a mod'rate Pigmy wou'd look tall.	900
But let her help her figure if she will,
She is, for all her art, a Pigmy still;
The Ridicule is not in Nature's gift,
But in the self-giv'n supplemental Lift;
For, rais'd by art, the humor cannot miss,
To see her spring from Earth to snatch a kiss.
No care affects her for her Husband's good,
She lives with him, but as a neighbor wou'd;
By this alone distinguish'd, that she hates
His Friends, and all that live within his Gates.	910
But at her follies should he take offence,
Her Reasons are still worse than her expense.
Now superstitious grown, and fill'd with dread,
Madness and Melancholy seize her head;
Past human cure, to Heav'n for aid she flies,
And ev'ry order of the Priesthood tries.
Priests of each God assemble in the Hall,
Priests ever ready at Devotion's call. [End Page 74]
A monstrous Semivir leads up the van,
A Creature once, but now no more, a Man;	920
A large Tiara o'er his Cheeks descends,
Of Phrygian form, and on his Shoulders ends.
His noisy Choir with screaming split their throats,
Whilst Drums and Trumpets aid their swelling notes;
With sacred awe upon their Chief they gaze,
Whilst to his fright'ned Patient, thus he says.
"Beware, lost Wretch, September's banefull blast,
"No safety for you till that Month be past;
"One hundred Eggs for lustral Rites prepare,
"That Isis may be mov'd to hear our pray'r;	930
"On us, her Priests, your purple Robes bestow,
"That into them, not you, these plagues may go.
"For sure, some dire event attends your State,
"Be warn'd, and send them e're it be too late;
"So by these means your Conscience you shall clear,
"And shun each threat'ning danger thro' the year."
Such is their weakness – Should he give advice
To dip into the Tiber stiff with Ice,
No pause for them – The solid Mass they break,
And, pale and shiv'ring, plunge into the Lake.	940
Thence thro' the Field of Mars all dropping run,
And dry their naked Bodies in the Sun.
Should Isis bid, or warn her in her dreams,
To fetch from Meroe her tepid streams,
All Egypt they would cross, well paid to gain
One single drop to sprinkle on her Fane;
For, pre-possess'd that Gods with Men converse,
Their sickly Dreams as Visions they rehearse;
Fine Subjects these! That Gods their Heav'n should quit,
And all night chatt'ring with such Wretches sit.	950
Yet This is he, who, honor'd and esteem'd,
Equal to Isis by the Sex is deem'd;
When by his Priests in mad Procession led,
He mourns for Apis or Osiris dead;
Close shav'n, and dress'd in white, each Priest appears,
Whilst he the face of Dog-Anubis wears:
And as all Rome in tears about him throng,
Laughs at the cred'lous Fools he draws along.
If any Wife whom tender Love betrays,
Has not the Virtue to abstain such days,	960 [End Page 75]
(For what can equal the flagitious crime,
To stew in filthy lust at such a time)
The Husband must be sent to make her peace,
That Heav'ns dread vengeance thro' their pray'rs may cease.
And now, his holy cant he mutters o're,
Whilst from his Eyes two fruitfull Rivers pour;
When lo! the silver Serpent seems to nod,
The Priest declares the meaning of the God;
"By me Osiris does forgive your Sin –
"Begone – but leave the Geese and Tripe within."	970
The Priest withdrawn, behold the Hebrew Race
With haggard Eye and sanctimonious Face,
Quit their thatch'd Hutts, and, wrung with holy qualms,
Mutter Jehovah's Name, and begg for Alms.
Hear them, the Law of God to them reveal'd,
From all Men else was partially conceal'd;
Blindly we err'd, till God declar'd his plan,
And made them his interpreters to Man;
Dodona's Oak ne'er utter'd greater lies,
Than the stupendous Tales their Priests devise.	980
The pious cant, however, makes its way,
For Bigots, tho' but sparingly, will pay.
No Vision that may sooth a sickly mind,
But Jews for Money to their wish will find.
This wants a Lover – That a large Bequest –
The good old Soothsayer performs his best;	{J. 550}
Dogs, Pigeons, Infants, to the knife he puts,
And reads her happy Fortune as he cuts;
Does things, which if he saw another do,
Would turn him Party and Informer too.	990
But the Chaldæn Seer most credit gains,
Oracular indeed whate'er he feigns!
From Ammon's Font, whence Truth once us'd to flow,
Astrologers derive the Truths they know;
For Delphos now no Oracles will give,
And Men in darkness are condemn'd to live!
Yet of this Tribe the most esteem'd is he,
Who into Princes' destinies can see;
Who, banish'd oft'nest from imperial Rome,
Foretold to jealous Otho, Galba's doom;	1000
But if in Chains, or Dungeons he has laid, [End Page 76]
He is the Coryphæus of his Trade;
Unvalu'd if no Sentence has been past,
But high in Fame, if he escapes at last;
To these, consulting first when thou shalt die,
Thy faithfull Tanaquil shall soon apply;
Her Jaundic'd Mother seems to her yet strong,
Her Sister and her Uncles live too long;
Oh! if her Lover's fate she could but read,
(Can Heav'n grant more) she wou'd be bless'd <indeed.>	1010
Yet in this Science, tho' they all excell,
What Saturn's aspect threatens, none can tell;
What Star with Venus must conjunctive rise,
What Planet gives good fortune, what denies.
Forbear then, Posthumus, if thou should'st wed,
To take to Wife a Woman, Planet-led;
Who thumbs her Ephemerides all day,
And minds the Stars beyond what Husbands say;
Who, deep in Science, on her skill depends,
And is consulted by her Female Friends;	1020
Who, bid to follow when they go abroad,
Consults Thrasyllus, and is over-aw'd.
Such never stir, tho' but to take the Air,
Till their own Books, the happy hour declare;
Nor to a running Eye the Salve apply,
Till into their nativity they pry;
Sick as they are, they taste no kind of meat,
Till Petosyris tells them they may eat.
If poor, they to the common Circus go,
(For poor as well as rich desire to know)	1030
Some ragged Fortune teller ready stands,
And views with gloating Eyes her Face and Hands;
Then holds the Lots, which they, with fear and awe
Caressing still, the holy Man would draw;
And now, her former terrors thrown aside,
His burning lips are to her lips apply'd;
Till short-breath'd sighs, which she no longer feigns, [End Page 77]
Amply reward the sturdy Letcher's pains.
If rich, some foreign Augur they require,
From Phrygia or from India brought fo<r hire;>	1040
One whom the Stars obey, whene'er he calls,
And purifies the place where Thunder <falls.>
The common sort, who wear no chains of Gold,
Have at a cheaper rate their Fortunes told;
And where the Dolphin's columns rise in air,
With eager steps promiscuously repair;
There trembling ask (a weighty point indeed!)
Who to her widow'd bed shall next succeed?
Whether some old-cloaths-Man shall fill her Arms?
Or Tavern-keeper, revell in her charms?	1050
Yet these, however low, and coarsely bred,
At nine Months-end are fairly brought to bed!
And chearfully, if Fortune wills it so,
The tedious pains of nursery undergo;
Whilst on the gold-wrought Bed one seldom sees
An Infant dandled on its Mother's knees;
Such arts they use, Abortions to procure!
Such mixtures take, to make their murder sure!
Rejoice then, wretched Husband! fill the Cup
Thy self, and let her drink the Potion up;	1060
Lest, fond to bring her filthy Spawn to light,
She with an Ethiop-Bastard blast thy sight!
Whom thou wilt never see each rising Morn,	{J. 600}
But thou wilt curse the hour that he was born;
For spite of all thy hopes, and all thy care,
The swarthy Cub shall soon become thy Heir!
But not to mention (as a trick well known)
The many Children they suppose their own;
Their secret Journies to Velabrums Lake,
Where they some poor deserted Foundling take;	1070
Whence Salian Priests derive their future F<ame,>
And have of Scaurus nothing but the name.
For Fortune, fond of hum'rous Scenes of mirth,
Nightly presides, and watches o'er their birth;
She takes them in her Arms, and pleas'd to show
How much her wanton fancy rules below,
She bids them rise to eminence and place, [End Page 78]
And laughing, dignifies her spurious race.
With magic songs that stimulate desire,
This would her Husband's lust to madness fire;	1080
This gives hot draughts, and as her Passions rise
With his, prints with her feet, his hips and thighs.
Hence Madness, Impotence of mind ensue,
And deep Oblivion of whate'er we do.
Yet this might be endur'd, the fit once o'er,
But reason thus destroy'd returns no more;
Hence, heated thus by his imperial Wife,
Caligula was frantic all his Life.
And who, when Cæsar's Wife such arts employs,
Will stint herself, or baulk her promis'd joys!	1090
Nor was this all the ill – The head diseas'd,
A sudden madness all the members seiz'd;
The Limbs no longer guided by the Head,
Confusion in all ranks of People spread;
Not less the frame of Nature would decay,
If Juno thus her Husband should betray.
Less criminal, who with a simple dose,
Sent her old Claudius to his last repose;
Her crime was but the Murther of a Man,
Cæsonia's thro' all ranks of Romans ran;	1100
Her's edg'd the Sword – Her's lit the Pile of Wood –
Her's shed Patrician and Equestrian blood.
No Sorceress could half the mischief do,
Than what from one Foal'shead Cæsonia drew.
Women their Husband's former Children hate –
The crime in killing them is not so great;
Imperial Agrippina thus has done,
Who slew Britannicus to raise her Son;
Beware, ye Wards, nor thoughtless trust too much,
Be cautious what ye taste, or smell, or touch;	1110
Poison oft lurks when Mothers serve the meat;
Let others taste the Lard before ye eat;
Your Tutors to the Cup their Lips apply,
Their fears will see the Drug with half an eye.
"Mere fiction this – Mere spleen – Satiric rage –
"That mounts on Buskins and out-rants the Stage;
"That, leaping o're the Rules of ancient times,
"Bellows like Sophocles at fancied crimes;
"Which Latium never knew, but Poets weave, [End Page 79]
To make the Scene more artfully deceive."	1120
Oh! that it were! but can such Fictions be,
Whilst Pontia cries, "My Children fell by me.
"The Fact was known, but yet the Fact was true,
"I did it, and I glory in it too."
What, cruel Viper, Two! "Sev'n, she replies,
"Had sev'n been mine, had fall'n a sacrifice."
Now disbelieve what Tragic Poets write,
When Procne and Medea rise to sight;
When Limb from Limb, the last her Children tore,
The other stew'd the Body in its gore.	1130
But these less cruel and less Savage were,
These never kill'd to be their Children's Heir.
Less wonder, Monsters as they were, These move,
For each was rack'd with Anger or with Love.
When Anger once a Female Bosom burns,
The heated Brain with sudden madness turns;
Like Rocks, that from the Mountain's summit rent,
They burst, and nothing can their rage prevent.
But worse, still worse, who with cool judgement act,	{J. 650}
And without Passion perpetrate the Fact;	1140
Who weigh the good productive from the ill,
And, fixd by that, deliberately kill.
These, by the Scene unmov'd, behold the Wife
Resign her own to save her Husband's life.
Oh! if, like Oracles, our Laws decreed
That in the Husband's place the Dogs shou'd bleed,
The Husband's Life would soon the forfeit pay –
What! part with little Venï, Spot, or Tray?
How many Belides we daily meet?
Eriphiles – that swarm in ev'ry Street?	1150
What village where (however small the bound)
Some modern Clitemnestra is not found?
The diff'rence is, that those the Axe will use;
These in the Cup the banefull Druggs <infuse.>
But if, like Mithridates, Husbands cou'd
With counter-Poisons fortifie their Blood,
These would, like her, the cutting Axe employ,
And at one stroke, their Husband's Lives destroy. [End Page 80]

Readings Emended from MS

43 crime,] crime_^ 82 him, ye Doctors,] ~_^ ~_^ 85 rather, Posthumus,] ~_^ ~_^ 89 Lot_^] Lot; 106 give?] give; 149 tho'^h_^] tho', 177 And_^] ~, 183 thus,] thus_^ 184 Holds_^] Holds, 201 say, what Youth,] ~_^ ~_^ 217 fierce,] ~_^ 240 thou, Brittanicus,] ~_^ ~_^ 259 crimes_^] ~, 274 voice". –] voice – 285 did,] did_^ 326 sound!"] sound! 397 Lover's] Lovers432 then?"] then? 528 colors, Quintilianus,] ~_^ ~_^ 618 What,] ~_^ 627 Indians, mighty Cæsar,] ~_^ ~_^ 662 property] properly 862 flay] play875 Tyrant's] Tyrants 912 worse_^] ~, 1059 then,] ~_^ 1060 self,] ~_^ 1061 Lest,] ~_^ 1081 draughts,] ~_^ 1118 crimes;] crimes;" 1119 "which]_^~ 1120 deceive."] deceive. 1125 Sev'n,] ~_^ 1126 sacrifice."] sacrifice. 1138 burst,] ~_^ 1143 These, by the Scene unmov'd,] ~_^~_^ [End Page 81]