The Second Satire of the First Book of Horace Imitated

The Tribe of Templars, Play'rs, Apothecaries,
Pimps, Poets, Wits, Lord Fanny's, Lady Mary's,
And all the Court in tears, and half the Town,
Lament dear charming Oldfield, dead and gone!
Engaging Oldfield! who, with grace and ease,
Could join the Arts, to ruin, and to please.
Not so, who of ten thousand gull'd her Knight,
Then ask'd ten thousand for a second Night:
The Gallant too, to whom she paid it down,
Liv'd to refuse that Mistress half a crown.
Con: Philips cries, " A sneaking dog I hate."
That's all three Lovers have for their Estate!
" Treat on, treat on," is her eternal note,
And lands and tenements go down her throat.
Some damn the Jade, and some the Cullies blame,
But not Sir Herbert, for he does the same.
With all a Woman's virtues but the p — x,
Fufidia thrives in Money, Land, and Stocks:
For Int'rest, ten per cent. her constant rate is;
Her Body? hopeful Heirs may have it gratis .
She turns her very Sister to a job,
And, in the happy minute, picks your fob:
Yet starves herself, so little her own friend,
And thirsts and hungers only at one end:
A Self-Tormentor, worse than (in the Play)
The Wretch, whose Av'rice drove his Son away.
But why all this? I'll tell ye, 'tis my Theme:
" Women and Fools are always in extreme."
Rufa's at either end a Common-shore,
Sweet Moll and Jack are Civet-Cat and Boar:
Nothing in nature is so lewd as Peg,
Yet, for the world, she would not shew her leg!
While bashful Jenny, ev'n at Morning-prayer,
Spreads her Fore-buttocks to the navel bare.
But diff'rent Taste in diff'rent men prevails,
And one is fir'd by heads, and one by tails;
Some feel no flames but at the Court or Ball,
And others hunt white Aprons in the Mall.
My Lord of London, chancing to remark
A noted Dean much busy'd in the Park,
" Proceed (he cry'd) proceed, my rev'rend Brother,
'Tis Fornicatio simplex , and no other:
Better than lust for Boys, with Pope and Turk,
Or others Spouses, like my Lord of York"
May no such Praise (cries Jefferys) e'er be mine!
Jefferys, who bows at Hillsborow's hoary Shrine.
All you, who think the City ne'er can thrive,
Till ev'ry Cuckold-maker's flea'd alive;
Attend, while I their Miseries explain,
And pity men of Pleasure still in pain!
Survey the pangs they bear, the risques they run,
Where the most lucky are but last undone.
See! wretched Monsieur flies to save his throat,
And quits his Mistress, Money, Ring, and Note!
See good Sir George of ragged Livery stript,
By worthier Footmen pist upon and whipt!
Plunder'd by Thieves, (or Lawyers, which is worse)
One bleeds in Person, and one bleeds in purse;
This meets a blanket, and that meets a cudgel — —
And all applaud the justice — All, but Budgel.
How much more safe, dear Countrymen! his State,
Who trades in Frigates of the second rate?
And yet some care of Sallust should be had;
Nothing so mean for which he can't run mad;
His Wit confirms him but a slave the more,
And makes a Princess whom he found a Whore:
The Youth might save much trouble and expence,
Were he a Dupe of only common Sense.
But here's his point; " A Wench (he cries) for me!
I never touch a Dame of Quality."
To Palmer's bed no Actress comes amiss,
He courts the whole Personae Dramatis:
He too can say, " With Wives I never sin."
But Singing-Girls and Mimicks draw him in.
Sure, worthy Sir, the diff'rence is not great,
With whom you lose your Credit and Estate?
This, or that person, what avails to shun?
What's wrong is wrong, wherever it be done;
The ease, support, and lustre of your life,
Destroy'd alike with Strumpet, Maid, or Wife.
What push'd poor Ellis on th' Imperial Whore?
'Twas but to be where C HARLES had been before.
The fatal Steel unjustly was apply'd,
When not his Lust offended, but his Pride:
Too hard a Penance for defeated sin,
Himself shut out, and Jacob Hall let in.
Suppose that honest part that rules us all,
Should rise, and say, — " Sir Robert! or Sir Paul!
Did I demand, in my most vig'rous hour,
A Thing descended from the Conqueror?
Or when my pulse beat highest, ask for any
Such Nicety, as Lady, or Lord Fanny?" — —
What would you answer? could you have the face,
When the poor Suff'rer humbly mourn'd his case,
To cry, " You weep the favours of her Grace ?"
Hath not indulgent Nature spread a feast,
And giv'n enough for Man, enough for Beast?
But Man corrupt, perverse in all his ways,
In search of Vanities, from Nature strays:
Yea, tho' the blessing's more than he can use,
Shuns the permitted, the forbid pursues!
Weigh well the Cause from whence these Evils spring,
'Tis in thyself, and not in God's good thing:
Then, lest repentance punish such a life,
Never, ah, never! kiss thy Neighbour's Wife.
First, Silks and Diamonds veil no finer shape,
Or plumper thigh, than lurk in humble Crape:
And secondly, how innocent a Belle
Is she who shows what ware she has to sell?
Not Lady-like, displays a milk-white Breast,
And hides, in sacred Sluttishness, the rest.
Our ancient Kings (and sure those Kings were wise,
Who judg'd themselves, and saw with their own eyes)
A War-horse never for the service chose,
But ey'd him round, and stript off all the cloaths;
For well they knew, proud Trappings serve to hide
A heavy chest, thick neck, or heaving side.
But Fools are ready Chaps, agog to buy,
Let but a comely fore-hand strike the eye:
No Eagle sharper, ev'ry charm to find,
To all defects, Tyrawley not so blind:
Goose-rump'd, hawk-nos'd, swan-footed is my Dear?
They'll praise her Elbow, heel, or Tip o'th' ear.
A Lady's Face is all you see undress'd;
(For none but Lady Mary shows the rest)
But if to charms more latent you pretend,
What lines encompass, and what works defend!
Dangers on dangers! Obstacles by dozens!
Spies, Guardians, Guests, old Women, Aunts, and Cousins!
Could you directly to her Person go,
Stays will obstruct above, and Hoops below,
And if the Dame says yes, the Dress says no.
Not thus at Needham's; your judicious eye
May measure there the breast, the hip, the thigh!
And will you run to Perils, Sword, and Law,
All for a thing you ne'er so much as saw?
" The Hare once seiz'd, the Hunter heeds no more
The little Scut he so pursu'd before;
Love follows flying game (as Sucklyn sings)
And 'tis for that the wanton Boy has wings."
Why let him sing — but when you're in the wrong,
Think ye to cure the mischief with a Song?
Has Nature set no bounds to wild Desire?
No Sense to guide, no Reason to enquire,
What solid Happiness, what empty Pride,
And what is best indulg'd, or best deny'd?
If neither Gems adorn, nor silver tip
The flowing bowl, will you not wet your lip?
When sharp with hunger, scorn you to be fed
Except on Pea-chicks, at the Bedford-head?
Or, when a tight neat Girl will serve the turn,
In errant pride, continue stiff and burn?
I'm a plain Man, whose maxim is profest,
" The thing at hand is of all things the best."
But her who will, and then will not comply,
Whose word is, If, Perhaps, and By-and-by,
Z — — ds! let some Eunuch or Platonic take — —
So Bathurst cries, Philosopher and Rake!
Who asks no more (right reasonable Peer)
Than not to wait too long, nor pay too dear.
Give me a willing Nymph! ('tis all I care,)
Extremely clean, and tolerably fair;
Her shape her own, whatever shape she have,
And just that white and red which Nature gave:
Her I transported touch, transported view,
And call her Angel! Goddess! Montague!
No furious Husband thunders at the door;
No barking dog, no houshold in a roar;
From gleaming swords no shrieking Women run;
No wretched Wife cries out, Undone! undone!
Seiz'd in the fact, and in her Cuckold's pow'r,
She kneels, she weeps, and worse! resigns her Dow'r.
Me, naked me, to Posts, to Pumps they draw,
To Shame eternal, or eternal Law.
Oh Love! be deep Tranquility my luck,
No Mistress Heysham near, no Lady Buck:
For, to be taken, is the dev'l in hell;
This truth let Liddel, Jefferys, Onslow tell.
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