Classic Poem

To cure man's jealously, that spleen , too common,
Our author chose me, a firm friend to Woman!
A willing doctor — But the downright fact is,
In this new way, I'm but ill turn'd for practice .

Yet hang it — in an age unform'd for daring ,
What is there in the breeches , but the wearing!
My outside's man , and I've seen many a true one .
Look — full as little likely — to undo one!

Mark, Ladies! and from this night's scene discover,
What art's I'll teach ye all, to hunt a lover;
Wind him, thro' fear to hope, thro' rage to smiling,
Till he distrusts his truth, by my beguiling:
Cruel, with kind intent, I'll first inflame him;
Then, when he's quite horn-mad , look kind, and tame him.
Gall him with pain , to make him worthy pleasure ,
And teach him, by his Trips , my T RUTH measure.
This done — I'll wed — for, then should love's ambition
Start some dim cause , that might deserve suspicion ,
Sense of past blunders strikes his recollection,
And fear, of new ones , shames him from inspection .

Oh! 'tis a glorious thing, when poets write
Thus, usefully — that we can profit by't!
They talk of lessons , drawn from tragic scenes,
Where tyrant lovers stab suspected queens;
Where one imperious ranting, fierce, Othello
Roars Lordship , into every tiny fellow.
But, give me C OMEDY , the world's true picture;
There , when the jealous doubter thinks, he's nick'd her,
Up starts the sex's wit , to aid our nature,
And then, poor spouse, himself , is prov'd the traitor .

Ah Ladies! — If you dread the side-long eye ,
The low-brow'd squint , of joyless jealousy ;
If, in the pangs of innocence , oppress'd,
You e'er have sigh'd, untrusted and unbless'd:
Smile on this friendly hand , that serves your cause .
And crown his favour'd scenes , with just applause.