From Sappho down through all fucceeding ages,
And now on French, or on Italian stages,
Rough fatyrs, fly remarks, ill-natur'd fpeeches,
Are alway aim'd at poets that wear breeches.
Arm'd with Longinus, or with Rapin, no man
Drew a sharp pen upon a naked woman.
The bluftering bully in our neighbouring streets
Scorns to attack the female that he meets :
Fearless the petticoat contemns his frowns :
The hoop fecure whatever it furrounds.
The many-colour'd gentry there above,
By turns are rul'd by tumult, and by love:
And while their sweet-hearts their attention fix,
Sufpend the din of their damn'd clattering sticks.
Now, Sirs
To you our author makes her soft request.
Who speak the kindeft, and who write the beft,
Your SYMPATHETIC hearts fhe hopes to move,
From tender friendship, and endearing love.
If Petrarch's Muse did Laura's wit rehearse;
And Cowley flatter'd dear Orinda's verse;
She hopes from you-Pox take her hopes and fears:
I plead her fex's claim; what matters her's?
By our full power of beauty we think fit.
To damn the SALIQUE law impos'd on wit:
We'll try the empire you fo long have boasted;
And if we are not prais'd, we 'll not be toasted.
Approve what one of us prefents to-night;
Or every mortal woman here shall write :
Rural, pathetic, narrative, fublime,
We'll write to you, and make you write in rhime;
Female remarks fhall take up all your time.
Your time, poor fouls! we'll take your very money;
Female third days fhall come fo quick upon ye.
As long as we have eyes, or hands, or breath,
We'll look, or write, or talk you all to death.
Unless you yield for better and for worse :
Then the She-Pegasus fhall gain the course;
And the
grey mare will prove the better horfe.
ΤΟ THE TUNE OF KING JOHN, AND THE
ABBOT OF CANTERBURY.
WHO has e'er been at Paris, muft needs know
The fatal retreat of th' unfortunate brave :
Where honour and juftice moft odly contribute,
To ease hero's pains by a halter and gibbet,
Derry down, down, hey derry down.
There death breaks the fhackles, which force had
And the hangman compleats, what the judge but
There the 'fquire of the pad, and the knight of the
Find their pains no more balk'd, and their hopes no more croft.
Great claims are there made, and great fecrets are
And the king, and the law, and the thief has his own; But my hearers cry out; what a deuce dost thou ail Cut off thy reflections; and give us thy tale.
'Twas there then, in civil refpect to harsh laws, And for want of falfe witnefs, to back a bad caufe, A Norman, though late, was obliged to appear: And who to affift, but a grave Cordelier ?
The 'Squire, whofe good grace was to open the scene,
Seem'd not in great hafte, that the show should begin:
Now fitted the halter, now travers'd the cart;
And often took leave; but was loth to depart.
What frightens you thus, my good fon? fays the
You murder'd, are forry, and have been confeft.
O father! my forrow will scarce fave my bacon:
For 'twas not that I murder'd, but that I was taken.
Derry down, &c.
Pugh! pr'ythee never trouble thy head with fuch
Rely on the aid you fhall have from Saint Francis :
If the money you promis'd be brought to the chest,
You have only to die: let the church do the rest.
Derry down, &c.
And what will folks fay, if they see you afraid;
It reflects upon me; as I knew not my trade:
Courage, Friend; to-day is your period of sorrow?
And things will go better, believe me, to-morrow.
Derry down, &c.
To-morrow? our hero reply'd in a fright:
He that's hang'd before noon, ought to think of to
Tell your beads, quoth the prieft, and be fairly
For you furely to-night fhall in Paradife fup.
Alas! quoth the 'Squire, howe'er fumptuous the treat,
PARBLEU, I fhall have little ftomach to eat;
I fhould therefore efteem it great favour and grace;
Would you be fo kind, as to go in my place.
That I would, quoth the father, and thank you to
But our actions, you know, with our duty must fuit.
The feaft, I propos'd to you, I cannot tafle;
For this night, by our order, is mark'd for a fait.
Derry down, &c.
Then turning about to the hangman, he faid;.
Difpatch me, I pr'ythee, this troublesome blade:
For thy cord, and my cord both equally tie;
And we live by the gold for which other men die.
NTERR'D beneath this marble filone,
Lie fauntering Jack, and idle Joan,
While rolling threefcore years and one
Did round this globe their courses run;
If human things went ill or well;
If changing empires rofe or fell:
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