THESIXTH SATIREOFJUVENAL.

FOOTNOTES:[78]Cumæ, a small city in Campania, near Puteoli, or Puzzolo, as it is called. The habitation of the Cumæan Sybil.[79]Baiæ, another little town in Campania, near the sea: a pleasant place.[80]Prochyta, a small barren island belonging to the kingdom of Naples.[81]The poets in Juvenal's time used to rehearse their poetry in August.[82]Numa, the second king of Rome, who made their laws, and instituted their religion.[83]Ægeria, a nymph, or goddess, with whom Numa feigned to converse by night; and to be instructed by her, in modelling his superstitions.[84]We have a similar account of the accommodation of these vagabond Israelites, in the Sixth Satire, where the prophetic Jewess plies her customers:----cophino, fænoque relicto.Her goods a basket, and old hay her bed;She strolls, and telling fortunes, gains her bread.—Editor.[85]Dædalus, in his flight from Crete, alighted at Cumæ.[86]Lachesis is one of the three destinies, whose office was to spin the life of every man; as it was of Clotho to hold the distaff, and Atropos to cut the thread.[87]Arturius means any debauched wicked fellow, who gains by the times.[88]In a prize of sword-players, when one of the fencers had the other at his mercy, the vanquished party implored the clemency of the spectators. If they thought he deserved it not, they held up their thumbs, and bent them backwards in sign of death.[89]Verres, præter in Sicily, contemporary with Cicero, by whom accused of oppressing the province, he was condemned: his name is used here for any rich vicious man.[90]Tagus, a famous river in Spain, which discharges itself into the ocean near Lisbon, in Portugal. It was held of old to be full of golden sands.[91]Orontes, the greatest river of Syria. The poet here puts the river for the inhabitants of Syria.[92]Romulus was the first king of Rome, and son of Mars, as the poets feign. The first Romans were herdsmen.[93]Athens, of which Pallas, the Goddess of Arms and Arts, was patroness.[94]Antiochus and Stratocles, two famous Grecian mimics, or actors, in the poet's time.[95]Publius Egnatius, a stoick, falsely accused Bareas Soranus, as Tacitus tells us.[96]Grecians living in Rome.[97]Lucius Metellus, the high priest, who, when the temple of Vesta was on fire, saved the Palladium.[98]Roscius, a tribune, ordered the distinction of places at public shows, betwixt the noblemen of Rome and the plebeians.[99]Alluding to the secession of the Plebeians to the Mons Sacer, or Sacred Hill, as it was called, when they were persecuted by the aristocracy. This very extraordinary resignation of their faculty, on the part of the common people, was not singular in the Roman history. It argues a much more inconsiderable population than the ancient writers would have us believe.Editor.[100]The meaning is, that men in some parts of Italy never wore a gown, the usual habit of the Romans, till they were buried in one.[101]Any wealthy man.[102]The Romans used to breed their tame pigeons in their garrets.[103]Codrus, a learned man, very poor: by his books, supposed to be a poet; for, in all probability, the heroic verses here mentioned, which rats and mice devoured, were Homer's works.[104]Herbs, roots, fruits, and sallads.[105]Corbulo was a famous general, in Nero's time, who conquered Armenia, and was afterwards put to death by that tyrant, when he was in Greece, in reward of his great services. His stature was not only tall above the ordinary size, but he was also proportionably strong.[106]The birth-place of Juvenal.

[78]Cumæ, a small city in Campania, near Puteoli, or Puzzolo, as it is called. The habitation of the Cumæan Sybil.

[79]Baiæ, another little town in Campania, near the sea: a pleasant place.

[80]Prochyta, a small barren island belonging to the kingdom of Naples.

[81]The poets in Juvenal's time used to rehearse their poetry in August.

[82]Numa, the second king of Rome, who made their laws, and instituted their religion.

[83]Ægeria, a nymph, or goddess, with whom Numa feigned to converse by night; and to be instructed by her, in modelling his superstitions.

[84]We have a similar account of the accommodation of these vagabond Israelites, in the Sixth Satire, where the prophetic Jewess plies her customers:----cophino, fænoque relicto.Her goods a basket, and old hay her bed;She strolls, and telling fortunes, gains her bread.—Editor.

[84]We have a similar account of the accommodation of these vagabond Israelites, in the Sixth Satire, where the prophetic Jewess plies her customers:

----cophino, fænoque relicto.Her goods a basket, and old hay her bed;She strolls, and telling fortunes, gains her bread.—Editor.

[85]Dædalus, in his flight from Crete, alighted at Cumæ.

[86]Lachesis is one of the three destinies, whose office was to spin the life of every man; as it was of Clotho to hold the distaff, and Atropos to cut the thread.

[87]Arturius means any debauched wicked fellow, who gains by the times.

[88]In a prize of sword-players, when one of the fencers had the other at his mercy, the vanquished party implored the clemency of the spectators. If they thought he deserved it not, they held up their thumbs, and bent them backwards in sign of death.

[89]Verres, præter in Sicily, contemporary with Cicero, by whom accused of oppressing the province, he was condemned: his name is used here for any rich vicious man.

[90]Tagus, a famous river in Spain, which discharges itself into the ocean near Lisbon, in Portugal. It was held of old to be full of golden sands.

[91]Orontes, the greatest river of Syria. The poet here puts the river for the inhabitants of Syria.

[92]Romulus was the first king of Rome, and son of Mars, as the poets feign. The first Romans were herdsmen.

[93]Athens, of which Pallas, the Goddess of Arms and Arts, was patroness.

[94]Antiochus and Stratocles, two famous Grecian mimics, or actors, in the poet's time.

[95]Publius Egnatius, a stoick, falsely accused Bareas Soranus, as Tacitus tells us.

[96]Grecians living in Rome.

[97]Lucius Metellus, the high priest, who, when the temple of Vesta was on fire, saved the Palladium.

[98]Roscius, a tribune, ordered the distinction of places at public shows, betwixt the noblemen of Rome and the plebeians.

[99]Alluding to the secession of the Plebeians to the Mons Sacer, or Sacred Hill, as it was called, when they were persecuted by the aristocracy. This very extraordinary resignation of their faculty, on the part of the common people, was not singular in the Roman history. It argues a much more inconsiderable population than the ancient writers would have us believe.Editor.

[100]The meaning is, that men in some parts of Italy never wore a gown, the usual habit of the Romans, till they were buried in one.

[101]Any wealthy man.

[102]The Romans used to breed their tame pigeons in their garrets.

[103]Codrus, a learned man, very poor: by his books, supposed to be a poet; for, in all probability, the heroic verses here mentioned, which rats and mice devoured, were Homer's works.

[104]Herbs, roots, fruits, and sallads.

[105]Corbulo was a famous general, in Nero's time, who conquered Armenia, and was afterwards put to death by that tyrant, when he was in Greece, in reward of his great services. His stature was not only tall above the ordinary size, but he was also proportionably strong.

[106]The birth-place of Juvenal.

THE ARGUMENT.

This Satire, of almost double length to any of the rest, is a bitter invectiveagainst the fair sex. It is, indeed, a common-place, from whenceall the moderns have notoriously stolen their sharpest railleries. Inhis other satires, the poet has only glanced on some particular women,and generally scourged the men; but this he reserved wholly for theladies. How they had offended him, I know not; but, upon thewhole matter, he is not to be excused for imputing to all, the vices ofsome few amongst them. Neither was it generously done of him, toattack the weakest, as well as the fairest, part of the creation; neitherdo I know what moral he could reasonably draw from it. Itcould not be to avoid the whole sex, if all had been true which healleges against them; for that had been to put an end to humankind. And to bid us beware of their artifices, is a kind of silent acknowledgment,that they have more wit than men; which turns thesatire upon us, and particularly upon the poet, who thereby makes acompliment, where he meant a libel. If he intended only to exercisehis wit, he has forfeited his judgment, by making the one half of hisreaders his mortal enemies; and amongst the men, all the happy lovers,by their own experience, will disprove his accusations. Thewhole world must allow this to be the wittiest of his satires; andtruly he had need of all his parts, to maintain, with so much violence,so unjust a charge. I am satisfied he will bring but few overto his opinion; and on that consideration chiefly I ventured to translate him. Though there wanted not another reason, which was, thatno one else would undertake it; at least, Sir C. S., who could havedone more right to the author, after a long delay, at length absolutelyrefused so ungrateful an employment; and every one will grant,that the work must have been imperfect and lame, if it had appearedwithout one of the principal members belonging to it. Let the poet,therefore, bear the blame of his own invention; and let me satisfythe world, that I am not of his opinion. Whatever his Roman ladieswere, the English are free from all his imputations. They willread with wonder and abhorrence the vices of an age, which was themost infamous of any on record. They will bless themselves whenthey behold those examples, related of Domitian's time; they willgive back to antiquity those monsters it produced, and believe, withreason, that the species of those women is extinguished, or, at least,that they were never here propagated. I may safely, therefore, proceedto the argument of a satire, which is no way relating to them;and first observe, that my author makes their lust the most heroic oftheir vices; the rest are in a manner but digression. He skims themover, but he dwells on this; when he seems to have taken his last leaveof it, on the sudden he returns to it: It is one branch of it in Hippia,another in Messalina, but lust is the main body of the tree. Hebegins with this text in the first line, and takes it up, with intermissions,to the end of the chapter. Every vice is a loader, but that isa ten. The fillers, or intermediate parts, are—their revenge; theircontrivances of secret crimes; their arts to hide them; their wit toexcuse them; and their impudence to own them, when they can nolonger be kept secret. Then the persons to whom they are most addicted,and on whom they commonly bestow the last favours, as stage-players,fiddlers, singing-boys, and fencers. Those who pass forchaste amongst them, are not really so; but only, for their vastdoweries, are rather suffered, than loved, by their own husbands.That they are imperious, domineering, scolding wives; set up for learning,and criticism in poetry; but are false judges: Love to speakGreek, (which was then the fashionable tongue, as French is nowwith us). That they plead causes at the bar, and play prizes at thebear-garden: That they are gossips and newsmongers; wrangle withtheir neighbours abroad, and beat their servants at home: That theylie-in for new faces once a month; are sluttish with their husbandsin private, and paint and dress in public for their lovers: That theydeal with Jews, diviners, and fortune-tellers; learn the arts of miscarryingand barrenness; buy children, and produce them for theirown; murder their husbands' sons, if they stand in their way to hisestate, and make their adulterers his heirs. From hence the poetproceeds to show the occasions of all these vices, their original, andhow they were introduced in Rome by peace, wealth, and luxury. Inconclusion, if we will take the word of our malicious author, badwomen are the general standing rule; and the good, but some fewexceptions to it.

In Saturn's reign, at Nature's early birth,There was that thing called Chastity on earth;When in a narrow cave, their common shade,The sheep, the shepherds, and their gods were laid;When reeds, and leaves, and hides of beasts, were spread,}By mountain-housewives, for their homely bed,}And mossy pillows raised, for the rude husband's head.}Unlike the niceness of our modern dames,(Affected nymphs, with new-affected names,)The Cynthias, and the Lesbias of our years,Who for a sparrow's death dissolve in tears,Those first unpolished matrons, big and bold,Gave suck to infants of gigantic mould;Rough as their savage lords, who ranged the wood,And, fat with acorns, belched their windy food.For when the world was buxom, fresh, and young,Her sons were undebauched, and therefore strong;And whether born in kindly beds of earth,Or struggling from the teeming oaks to birth,Or from what other atoms they begun,No sires they had, or, if a sire, the sun.Some thin remains of chastity appearedEven under Jove,[107]but Jove without a beard;Before the servile Greeks had learnt to swearBy heads of kings; while yet the bounteous yearHer common fruits in open plains exposed;Ere thieves were feared, or gardens were inclosed.At length uneasy Justice upwards flew,And both the sisters to the stars withdrew;[108]From that old æra whoring did begin,So venerably ancient is the sin.Adulterers next invade the nuptial state,And marriage-beds creaked with a foreign weight;All other ills did iron times adorn,But whores and silver in one age were born.Yet thou, they say, for marriage dost provide;Is this an age to buckle with a bride?They say thy hair the curling art is taught,The wedding-ring perhaps already bought;A sober man like thee to change his life!What fury would possess thee with a wife?Art thou of every other death bereft,No knife, no ratsbane, no kind halter left?(For every noose compared to her's is cheap.)Is there no city-bridge from whence to leap?Would'st thou become her drudge, who dost enjoyA better sort of bedfellow, thy boy?He keeps thee not awake with nightly brawls,Nor, with a begged reward, thy pleasure palls;Nor, with insatiate heavings, calls for more,When all thy spirits were drained out before.But still Ursidius courts the marriage-bait,Longs for a son to settle his estate,And takes no gifts, though every gaping heirWould gladly grease the rich old bachelor.What revolution can appear so strange,As such a lecher such a life to change?A rank, notorious whoremaster, to chooseTo thrust his neck into the marriage-noose?He who so often, in a dreadful fright,Had, in a coffer, 'scaped the jealous cuckold's sight;That he, to wedlock dotingly betrayed,Should hope, in this lewd town, to find a maid!—The man's grown mad! to ease his frantic pain,Run for the surgeon, breathe the middle vein;But let a heifer, with gilt horns, be ledTo Juno, regent of the marriage-bed;And let him every deity adore,}If his new bride prove not an arrant whore,}In head, and tail, and every other pore.}On Ceres' feast,[109]restrained from their delight,Few matrons there, but curse the tedious night;Few whom their fathers dare salute, such lustTheir kisses have, and come with such a gust.With ivy now adorn thy doors, and wed;Such is thy bride, and such thy genial bed.Think'st thou one man is for one woman meant?She sooner with one eye would be content.And yet, 'tis noised, a maid did once appearIn some small village, though fame says not where.'Tis possible; but sure no man she found;'Twas desart all about her father's ground.And yet some lustful God might there make bold;Are Jove and Mars grown impotent and old?Many a fair nymph has in a cave been spread,And much good love without a feather-bed.Whither would'st thou, to chuse a wife, resort,The park, the mall, the playhouse, or the court?Which way soever thy adventures fall,Secure alike of chastity in all.One sees a dancing-master capering high,And raves, and pisses, with pure extacy;Another does with all his motions move,And gapes, and grins, as in the feat of love;A third is charmed with the new opera notes,Admires the song, but on the singer dotes.The country lady in the box appears,}Softly she warbles over all she hears,}And sucks in passion both at eyes and ears.}The rest (when now the long vacation's come,The noisy hall and theatres grown dumb)Their memories to refresh, and cheer their hearts,In borrowed breeches, act the players' parts.The poor, that scarce have wherewithal to eat,Will pinch, to make the singing-boy a treat;The rich, to buy him, will refuse no price,And stretch his quail-pipe, till they crack his voice.Tragedians, acting love, for lust are sought,Though but the parrots of a poet's thought.The pleading lawyer, though for counsel used,In chamber-practice often is refused.Still thou wilt have a wife, and father heirs,The product of concurring theatres.Perhaps a fencer did thy brows adorn,And a young swordsman to thy lands is born.Thus Hippia loathed her old patrician lord,And left him for a brother of the sword.To wondering Pharos[110]with her love she fled,To show one monster more than Afric bred;Forgetting house and husband left behind,}Even children too, she sails before the wind;}False to them all, but constant to her kind.}But, stranger yet, and harder to conceive,She could the playhouse and the players leave.Born of rich parentage, and nicely bred,She lodged on down, and in a damask bed;Yet daring now the dangers of the deep,On a hard mattress is content to sleep.Ere this, 'tis true, she did her fame expose;But that great ladies with great ease can lose.The tender nymph could the rude ocean bear,So much her lust was stronger than her fear.But had some honest cause her passage prest,The smallest hardship had disturbed her breast.Each inconvenience makes their virtue cold;But womankind in ills is ever bold.Were she to follow her own lord to sea,What doubts and scruples would she raise to stay?Her stomach sick, and her head giddy grows,The tar and pitch are nauseous to her nose;But in love's voyage nothing can offend,Women are never sea-sick with a friend.Amidst the crew she walks upon the board,}She eats, she drinks, she handles every cord;}And if she spews, 'tis thinking of her lord.}Now ask, for whom her friends and fame she lost?What youth, what beauty, could the adulterer boast?What was the face, for which she could sustainTo be called mistress to so base a man?The gallant of his days had known the best;}Deep scars were seen indented on his breast,}And all his battered limbs required their needful rest;}A promontory wen, with grisly grace,Stood high upon the handle of his face:His blear-eyes ran in gutters to his chin;His beard was stubble, and his cheeks were thin.But 'twas his fencing did her fancy move;'Tis arms, and blood, and cruelty, they love.But should he quit his trade, and sheath his sword,Her lover would begin to be her lord.This was a private crime; but you shall hearWhat fruits the sacred brows of monarchs bear:[111]The good old sluggard but began to snore,When, from his side, up rose the imperial whore;She, who preferred the pleasures of the nightTo pomps, that are but impotent delight,Strode from the palace, with an eager pace,To cope with a more masculine embrace.Muffled she marched, like Juno in a cloud,Of all her train but one poor wench allowed;One whom in secret-service she could trust,The rival and companion of her lust.To the known brothel-house she takes her way,}And for a nasty room gives double pay;}That room in which the rankest harlot lay.}Prepared for fight, expectingly she lies,With heaving breasts, and with desiring eyes.Still as one drops, another takes his place,And, baffled, still succeeds to like disgrace.At length, when friendly darkness is expired,And every strumpet from her cell retired,She lags behind and, lingering at the gate,With a repining sigh submits to fate;All filth without, and all a fire within,Tired with the toil, unsated with the sin.Old Cæsar's bed the modest matron seeks,The steam of lamps still hanging on her cheeksIn ropy smut; thus foul, and thus bedight,She brings him back the product of the night.Now, should I sing what poisons they provide,With all their trumpery of charms beside,And all their arts of death,—it would be known,Lust is the smallest sin the sex can own.Cæsinia still, they say, is guiltless found}Of every vice, by her own lord renowned;}And well she may, she brought ten thousand pound.}She brought him wherewithal to be called chaste;His tongue is tied in golden fetters fast:He sighs, adores, and courts her every hour;Who would not do as much for such a dower?She writes love-letters to the youth in grace,Nay, tips the wink before the cuckold's face;And might do more, her portion makes it good;Wealth has the privilege of widowhood.[112]These truths with his example you disprove,Who with his wife is monstrously in love:But know him better; for I heard him swear,'Tis not that she's his wife, but that she's fair.Let her but have three wrinkles in her face,Let her eyes lessen, and her skin unbrace,Soon you will hear the saucy steward say,—Pack up with all your trinkets, and away;You grow offensive both at bed and board;Your betters must be had to please my lord.Meantime she's absolute upon the throne,And, knowing time is precious, loses none.She must have flocks of sheep, with wool more fineThan silk, and vineyards of the noblest wine;Whole droves of pages for her train she craves,And sweeps the prisons for attending slaves.In short, whatever in her eyes can come,Or others have abroad, she wants at home.When winter shuts the seas, and fleecy snowsMake houses white, she to the merchant goes;Rich crystals of the rock she takes up there,Huge agate vases, and old china ware;Then Berenice's ring[113]her finger proves,More precious made by her incestuous loves,And infamously dear; a brother's bribe,Even God's anointed, and of Judah's tribe;Where barefoot they approach the sacred shrine,And think it only sin to feed on swine.But is none worthy to be made a wife}In all this town? Suppose her free from strife,}Rich, fair, and fruitful, of unblemished life;}Chaste as the Sabines, whose prevailing charms,Dismissed their husbands' and their brothers' arms;Grant her, besides, of noble blood, that ranIn ancient veins, ere heraldry began;Suppose all these, and take a poet's word,A black swan is not half so rare a bird.A wife, so hung with virtues, such a freight,What mortal shoulders could support the weight!Some country girl, scarce to a curtsey bred,Would I much rather than Cornelia[114]wed;If supercilious, haughty, proud, and vain,She brought her father's triumphs in her train.Away with all your Carthaginian state;}Let vanquished Hannibal without doors wait,}Too burly, and too big, to pass my narrow gate.}O Pæan! cries Amphion,[115]bend thy bow}Against my wife, and let my children go!—}But sullen Pæan shoots at sons and mothers too.}His Niobe and all his boys he lost;Even her, who did her numerous offspring boast,As fair and fruitful as the sow that carriedThe thirty pigs, at one large litter farrowed.[116]What beauty, or what chastity, can bearSo great a price, if, stately and severe,She still insults, and you must still adore?Grant that the honey's much, the gall is more.Upbraided with the virtues she displays,Seven hours in twelve you loath the wife you praise.Some faults, though small, intolerable grow;For what so nauseous and affected too,As those that think they due perfection want,Who have not learnt to lisp the Grecian cant?[117]In Greece, their whole accomplishments they seek:Their fashion, breeding, language, must be Greek;But, raw in all that does to Rome belong,They scorn to cultivate their mother-tongue.In Greek they flatter, all their fears they speak;Tell all their secrets; nay, they scold in Greek:Even in the feat of love, they use that tongue.Such affectations may become the young;But thou, old hag, of three score years and three,Is showing of thy parts in Greek for thee?Ζωὴ καὶ ψυχὴ! All those tender wordsThe momentary trembling bliss affords;The kind soft murmurs of the private sheetsAre bawdy, while thou speak'st in public streets.Those words have fingers; and their force is such,They raise the dead, and mount him with a touch.But all provocatives from thee are vain;No blandishment the slackened nerve can strain.If then thy lawful spouse thou canst not love,What reason should thy mind to marriage move?Why all the charges of the nuptial feast,Wine and deserts, and sweet-meats to digest?The endowing gold that buys the dear delight,Given for thy first and only happy night?If thou art thus uxoriously inclined,To bear thy bondage with a willing mind,Prepare thy neck, and put it in the yoke;But for no mercy from thy woman look.For though, perhaps, she loves with equal fires,To absolute dominion she aspires,Joys in the spoils, and triumphs o'er thy purse;The better husband makes the wife the worse.Nothing is thine to give, or sell, or buy,}All offices of ancient friendship die,}Nor hast thou leave to make a legacy.[118]}By thy imperious wife thou art bereftA privilege, to pimps and panders left;Thy testament's her will; where she prefers}Her ruffians, drudges, and adulterers,}Adopting all thy rivals for thy heirs.}Go drag that slave to death!—Your reason? whyShould the poor innocent be doomed to die?What proofs? For, when man's life is in debate,The judge can ne'er too long deliberate.—Call'st thou that slave a man? the wife replies;Proved, or unproved, the crime, the villain dies.I have the sovereign power to save, or kill,And give no other reason but my will.—Thus the she-tyrant reigns, till, pleased with change,Her wild affections to new empires range;Another subject-husband she desires;Divorced from him, she to the first retires,While the last wedding-feast is scarcely o'er,And garlands hang yet green upon the door.So still the reckoning rises; and appearsIn total sum, eight husbands in five years.The title for a tomb-stone might be fit,But that it would too commonly be writ.Her mother living, hope no quiet day;}She sharpens her, instructs her how to flay}Her husband bare, and then divides the prey.}She takes love-letters, with a crafty smile,And, in her daughter's answer, mends the style.In vain the husband sets his watchful spies;She cheats their cunning, or she bribes their eyes.The doctor's called; the daughter, taught the trick,Pretends to faint, and in full health is sick.The panting stallion, at the closet-door,Hears the consult, and wishes it were o'er.Canst thou, in reason, hope, a bawd so known,Should teach her other manners than her own?Her interest is in all the advice she gives;'Tis on the daughter's rents the mother lives.No cause is tried at the litigious bar,But women plaintiffs or defendants are;They form the process, all the briefs they write,}The topics furnish, and the pleas indict,}And teach the toothless lawyer how to bite.}They turn viragos too; the wrestler's toilThey try, and smear the naked limbs with oil;Against the post their wicker shields they crush,Flourish the sword, and at the flastron push.Of every exercise the mannish crewFulfils the parts, and oft excels us too;Prepared not only in feigned fights to engage,But rout the gladiators on the stage.What sense of shame in such a breast can lie,Inured to arms, and her own sex to fly?Yet to be wholly man she would disclaim;}To quit her tenfold pleasure at the game,}For frothy praises and an empty name.}Oh what a decent sight 'tis to beholdAll thy wife's magazine by auction sold!The belt, the crested plume, the several suitsOf armour, and the Spanish leather boots!Yet these are they, that cannot bear the heatOf figured silks, and under sarcenet sweat.Behold the strutting Amazonian whore,She stands in guard with her right foot before;Her coats tucked up, and all her motions just,She stamps, and then cries,—Hah! at every thrust;But laugh to see her, tired with many a bout,Call for the pot, and like a man piss out.The ghosts of ancient Romans, should they rise,Would grin to see their daughters play a prize.Besides, what endless brawls by wives are bred?The curtain-lecture makes a mournful bed.Then, when she has thee sure within the sheets,Her cry begins, and the whole day repeats.Conscious of crimes herself, she teazes first;Thy servants are accused; thy whore is curst;She acts the jealous, and at will she cries;For womens' tears are but the sweat of eyes.Poor cuckold fool! thou think'st that love sincere,And sucks between her lips the falling tear;But search her cabinet, and thou shalt findEach tiller there with love-epistles lined.Suppose her taken in a close embrace,}This you would think so manifest a case,}No rhetoric could defend, no impudence outface;}And yet even then she cries,—The marriage-vowA mental reservation must allow;And there's a silent bargain still implied,}The parties should be pleased on either side,}And both may for their private needs provide.}Though men yourselves, and women us you call,Yethomois a common name for all.—There's nothing bolder than a woman caught;Guilt gives them courage to maintain their fault.You ask, from whence proceed these monstrous crimes?Once poor, and therefore chaste, in former timesOur matrons were; no luxury found room,In low-roofed houses, and bare walls of loam;Their hands with labour hardened while 'twas light,And frugal sleep supplied the quiet night;While pinched with want, their hunger held them straight,When Hannibal was hovering at the gate:But wanton now, and lolling at our ease,We suffer all the inveterate ills of peace,And wasteful riot; whose destructive charms,Revenge the vanquished world of our victorious arms.No crime, no lustful postures are unknown,Since Poverty, our guardian god, is gone;Pride, laziness, and all luxurious arts,Pour, like a deluge, in from foreign parts:Since gold obscene, and silver found the way,}Strange fashions, with strange bullion, to convey,}And our plain simple manners to betray.}What care our drunken dames to whom they spread?Wine no distinction makes of tail or head.Who lewdly dancing at a midnight ball,For hot eringoes and fat oysters call:Full brimmers to their fuddled noses thrust,Brimmers, the last provocatives of lust;When vapours to their swimming brains advance,And double tapers on the table dance.Now think what bawdy dialogues they have,What Tullia talks to her confiding slave,At Modesty's old statue; when by nightThey make a stand, and from their litters light;The good man early to the levee goes,And treads the nasty paddle of his spouse.The secrets of the goddess named the Good,[119]Are even by boys and barbers understood;Where the rank matrons, dancing to the pipe,Gig with their bums, and are for action ripe;With music raised, they spread abroad their hair,And toss their heads like an enamoured mare;Laufella lays her garland by, and provesThe mimic lechery of manly loves.Ranked with the lady the cheap sinner lies;For here not blood, but virtue, gives the prize.Nothing is feigned in this venereal strife;'Tis downright lust, and acted to the life.So full, so fierce, so vigorous, and so strong,That looking on would make old Nestor young.Impatient of delay, a general sound,}An universal groan of lust goes round;}For then, and only then, the sex sincere is found.}Now is the time of action; now begin,They cry, and let the lusty lovers in.The whoresons are asleep; then bring the slaves,And watermen, a race of strong-backed knaves.I wish, at least, our sacred rites were freeFrom those pollutions of obscenity:But 'tis well known what singer,[120]how disguised,A lewd audacious action enterprized;Into the fair, with women mixed, he went,Armed with a huge two-handed instrument;A grateful present to those holy choirs,Where the mouse, guilty of his sex, retires,And even male pictures modestly are veiled:Yet no profaneness in that age prevailed;No scoffers at religious rites were found,Though now at every altar they abound.I hear your cautious counsel; you would say,Keep close your women under lock and key:—But, who shall keep those keepers? Women, nurstIn craft; begin with those, and bribe them first.The sex is turned all whore; they love the game,And mistresses and maids are both the same.The poor Ogulnia, on the poet's day,Will borrow clothes and chair to see the play;She, who before had mortgaged her estate,And pawned the last remaining piece of plate.Some are reduced their utmost shifts to try;But women have no shame of poverty.They live beyond their stint, as if their storeThe more exhausted, would encrease the more:Some men, instructed by the labouring ant,Provide against the extremities of want;But womankind, that never knows a mean,Down to the dregs their sinking fortune drain:Hourly they give, and spend, and waste, and wear,And think no pleasure can be bought too dear.There are, who in soft eunuchs place their bliss,To shun the scrubbing of a bearded kiss,And 'scape abortion; but their solid joyIs when the page, already past a boy,Is caponed late, and to the gelder shown,With his two-pounders to perfection grown;When all the navel-string could give, appears;All but the beard, and that's the barber's loss, not theirs.Seen from afar, and famous for his ware,He struts into the bath among the fair;The admiring crew to their devotions fall,And, kneeling, on their new Priapus call.Kerved for his lady's use, with her he lies;And let him drudge for her, if thou art wise,Rather than trust him with thy favourite boy;He proffers death, in proffering to enjoy.If songs they love, the singer's voice they forceBeyond his compass, 'till his quail-pipe's hoarse.His lute and lyre with their embrace is worn;With knots they trim it, and with gems adorn;Run over all the strings, and kiss the case,And make love to it in the master's place.A certain lady once, of high degree,To Janus vowed, and Vesta's deity,That Pollio[121]might, in singing, win the prize;Pollio, the dear, the darling of her eyes:She prayed, and bribed; what could she more have doneFor a sick husband, or an only son?With her face veiled, and heaving up her hands,The shameless suppliant at the altar stands;The forms of prayer she solemnly pursues,And, pale with fear, the offered entrails views.Answer, ye powers; for, if you heard her vow,Your godships, sure, had little else to do.This is not all; for actors[122]they implore;An impudence unknown to heaven before.The Aruspex,[123]tired with this religious rout,Is forced to stand so long, he gets the gout.But suffer not thy wife abroad to roam:If she loves singing, let her sing at home;Not strut in streets with Amazonian pace,For that's to cuckold thee before thy face.Their endless itch of news comes next in play;They vent their own, and hear what others say;Know what in Thrace, or what in France is done;The intrigues betwixt the stepdame and the son;Tell who loves who, what favours some partake,And who is jilted for another's sake;What pregnant widow in what month was made;How oft she did, and, doing, what she said.She first beholds the raging comet rise,Knows whom it threatens, and what lands destroys;Still for the newest news she lies in wait,And takes reports just entering at the gate.Wrecks, floods, and fires, whatever she can meet,She spreads, and is the fame of every street.This is a grievance; but the next is worse;A very judgment, and her neighbours' curse;For, if their barking dog disturb her ease,No prayer can bend her, no excuse appease.The unmannered malefactor is arraigned;But first the master, who the cur maintained,Must feel the scourge. By night she leaves her bed,By night her bathing equipage is led,That marching armies a less noise create;She moves in tumult, and she sweats in state.Meanwhile, her guests their appetites must keep;Some gape for hunger, and some gasp for sleep.At length she comes, all flushed; but ere she sup,}Swallows a swinging preparation-cup,}And then, to clear her stomach, spews it up.}The deluge-vomit all the floor o'erflows,And the sour savour nauseates every nose.She drinks again, again she spews a lake;Her wretched husband sees, and dares not speak;But mutters many a curse against his wife,And damns himself for choosing such a life.But of all plagues, the greatest is untold;The book-learned wife, in Greek and Latin bold;The critic-dame, who at her table sits,}Homer and Virgil quotes, and weighs their wits,}And pities Dido's agonizing fits.}She has so far the ascendant of the board,The prating pedant puts not in one word;The man of law is non-plust in his suit,Nay, every other female tongue is mute.Hammers, and beating anvils, you would swear,And Vulcan, with his whole militia, there.Tabors and trumpets, cease; for she aloneIs able to redeem the labouring moon.[124]Even wit's a burthen, when it talks too long;But she, who has no continence of tongue,Should walk in breeches, and should wear a beard,And mix among the philosophic herd.O what a midnight curse has he, whose sideIs pestered with a mood and figure bride!Let mine, ye gods! (if such must be my fate,)No logic learn, nor history translate,But rather be a quiet, humble fool;I hate a wife to whom I go to school,Who climbs the grammar-tree, distinctly knowsWhere noun, and verb, and participle grows;Corrects her country-neighbour; and, a-bed,For breaking Priscian's breaks her husband's head.[125]The gaudy gossip, when she's set agog,In jewels drest, and at each ear a bob,Goes flaunting out, and, in her trim of pride,Thinks all she says or does is justified.When poor, she's scarce a tolerable evil;But rich, and fine, a wife's a very devil.She duly, once a month, renews her face;Meantime, it lies in daub, and hid in grease.Those are the husband's nights; she craves her due,He takes fat kisses, and is stuck in glue.But to the loved adulterer when she steers,Fresh from the bath, in brightness she appears:For him the rich Arabia sweats her gum,}And precious oils from distant Indies come,}How haggardly soe'er she looks at home.}The eclipse then vanishes, and all her faceIs opened, and restored to every grace;The crust removed, her cheeks, as smooth as silk,Are polished with a wash of asses milk;And should she to the farthest north be sent,A train of these[126]attend her banishment.But hadst thou seen her plaistered up before,'Twas so unlike a face, it seemed a sore.'Tis worth our while, to know what all the dayThey do, and how they pass their time away;For, if o'er-night the husband has been slack,}Or counterfeited sleep, and turned his back,}Next day, be sure, the servants go to wrack.}The chamber-maid and dresser are called whores,The page is stript, and beaten out of doors;The whole house suffers for the master's crime,And he himself is warned to wake another time.She hires tormentors by the year; she treatsHer visitors, and talks, but still she beats;Beats while she paints her face, surveys her gown,Casts up the day's account, and still beats on:Tired out, at length, with an outrageous tone,She bids them in the devil's name be gone.Compared with such a proud, insulting dame,Sicilian tyrants[127]may renounce their name.For, if she hastes abroad to take the air,Or goes to Isis' church, (the bawdy house of prayer,)She hurries all her handmaids to the task;Her head, alone, will twenty dressers ask.Psecas, the chief, with breast and shoulders bare,Trembling, considers every sacred hair;If any straggler from his rank be found,A pinch must for the mortal sin compound.Psecas is not in fault; but in the glass,The dame's offended at her own ill face.That maid is banished; and another girl,More dexterous, manages the comb and curl.The rest are summoned on a point so nice,And, first, the grave old woman gives advice;The next is called, and so the turn goes round,As each for age, or wisdom, is renowned:Such counsel, such deliberate care they take,As if her life and honour lay at stake:With curls on curls, they build her head before,And mount it with a formidable tower.A giantess she seems; but look behind,And then she dwindles to the pigmy kind.Duck-legged, short-waisted, such a dwarf she is,That she must rise on tip-toes for a kiss.Meanwhile, her husband's whole estate is spent!He may go bare, while she receives his rent.She minds him not; she lives not as a wife,But, like a bawling neighbour, full of strife:Near him in this alone, that she extendsHer hate to all his servants and his friends.Bellona's priests,[128]an eunuch at their head,About the streets a mad procession lead;The venerable gelding, large, and high,O'erlooks the herd of his inferior fry.His aukward clergymen about him prance,And beat the timbrels to their mystic dance;Guiltless of testicles, they tear their throats,And squeak, in treble, their unmanly notes.Meanwhile, his cheeks the mitred prophet swells,And dire presages of the year foretels;Unless with eggs (his priestly hire) they hasteTo expiate, and avert the autumnal blast;And add beside a murrey-coloured vest,[129]Which, in their places, may receive the pest,And, thrown into the flood, their crimes may bear,To purge the unlucky omens of the year.The astonished matrons pay, before the rest;That sex is still obnoxious to the priest.Through ye they beat, and plunge into the stream,If so the God has warned them in a dream.Weak in their limbs, but in devotion strong,}On their bare hands and feet they crawl along}A whole field's length, the laughter of the throng.}Should Io (Io's priest, I mean) commandA pilgrimage to Meroe's burning sand,Through deserts they would seek the secret spring,And holy water for lustration bring.How can they pay their priests too much respect,Who trade with heaven, and earthly gains neglect!With him domestic gods discourse by night;By day, attended by his choir in white,The bald pate tribe runs madding through the street,And smile to see with how much ease they cheat.The ghostly sire forgives the wife's delights,Who sins, through frailty, on forbidden nights,And tempts her husband in the holy time,When carnal pleasure is a mortal crime.The sweating image shakes his head, but he,With mumbled prayers, atones the deity.The pious priesthood the fat goose receive,And, they once bribed, the godhead must forgive.No sooner these remove, but full of fear,A gipsey Jewess whispers in your ear,And begs an alms; an high-priest's daughter she,}Versed in their Talmud, and divinity,}And prophesies beneath a shady tree.}Her goods a basket, and old hay her bed,She strolls, and, telling fortunes, gains her bread:Farthings, and some small monies, are her fees;Yet she interprets all your dreams for these,Foretels the estate, when the rich uncle dies,And sees a sweetheart in the sacrifice.Such toys, a pigeon's entrails can disclose,Which yet the Armenian augur far outgoes;In dogs, a victim more obscene, he rakes;And murdered infants for inspection takes:For gain his impious practice he pursues;For gain will his accomplices accuse.More credit yet is to Chaldeans[130]given;What they foretel, is deemed the voice of heaven.Their answers, as from Hammon's altar, come;Since now the Delphian oracles are dumb,And mankind, ignorant of future fate,Believes what fond astrologers relate.Of these the most in vogue is he, who, sentBeyond seas, is returned from banishment;His art who to aspiring Otho[131]sold,And sure succession to the crown foretold;For his esteem is in his exile placed;The more believed, the more he was disgraced.No astrologic wizard honour gains,Who has not oft been banished, or in chains.He gets renown, who, to the halter near,But narrowly escapes, and buys it dear.From him your wife enquires the planets' will,When the black jaundice shall her mother kill;Her sister's and her uncle's end would know,But, first, consults his art, when you shall go;And,—what's the greatest gift that heaven can give,—If after her the adulterer shall live.She neither knows, nor cares to know, the rest,If Mars and Saturn[132]shall the world infest;Or Jove and Venus, with their friendly rays,Will interpose, and bring us better days.Beware the woman too, and shun her sight,Who in these studies does herself delight,By whom a greasy almanack is born,With often handling, like chaft amber worn:Not now consulting, but consulted, sheOf the twelve houses, and their lords, is free.She, if the scheme a fatal journey show,Stays safe at home, but lets her husband go.If but a mile she travel out of town,The planetary hour must first be known,And lucky moment; if her eye but aches,Or itches, its decumbiture she takes;No nourishment receives in her disease,But what the stars and Ptolemy[133]shall please.The middle sort, who have not much to spare,}To chiromancers' cheaper art repair,}Who clap the pretty palm, to make the lines more fair.}But the rich matron, who has more to give,Her answers from the Brachman[134]will receive;Skilled in the globe and sphere, he gravely stands,And, with his compass, measures seas and lands.The poorest of the sex have still an itchTo know their fortunes, equal to the rich.The dairy-maid enquires, if she shall takeThe trusty tailor, and the cook forsake.Yet these, though poor, the pain of childbed bear,And without nurses their own infants rear:You seldom hear of the rich mantle spreadFor the babe, born in the great lady's bed.Such is the power of herbs, such arts they useTo make them barren, or their fruit to lose.But thou, whatever slops she will have bought,Be thankful, and supply the deadly draught;Help her to make man-slaughter; let her bleed,And never want for savin at her need.For, if she holds till her nine months be run,Thou may'st be father to an Ethiop's son;[135]A boy, who, ready gotten to thy hands,By law is to inherit all thy lands;One of that hue, that, should he cross the way,His omen would discolour all the day.[136]I pass the foundling by, a race unknown,At doors exposed, whom matrons make their own;And into noble families advanceA nameless issue, the blind work of chance.Indulgent fortune does her care employ,And, smiling, broods upon the naked boy:Her garment spreads, and laps him in the fold,And covers with her wings from nightly cold:Gives him her blessing, puts him in a way,Sets up the farce, and laughs at her own play.Him she promotes; she favours him alone,And makes provision for him as her own.The craving wife the force of magic tries,And filters for the unable husband buys;The potion works not on the part designed,But turns his brains, and stupifies his mind.The sotted moon-calf gapes, and, staring on,Sees his own business by another done:A long oblivion, a benumbing frost,Constrains his head, and yesterday is lost.Some nimbler juice would make him foam and rave,Like that Cæsonia[137]to her Caius gave,Who, plucking from the forehead of the foalHis mother's love,[138]infused it in the bowl;The boiling blood ran hissing in his veins,Till the mad vapour mounted to his brains.The Thunderer was not half so much on fire,When Juno's girdle kindled his desire.What woman will not use the poisoning trade,When Cæsar's wife the precedent has made?Let Agrippina's mushroom[139]be forgot,Given to a slavering, old, unuseful sot;That only closed the driv'ling dotard's eyes,And sent his godhead downward to the skies;But this fierce potion calls for fire and sword,Nor spares the commons, when it strikes the lord.So many mischiefs were in one combined;So much one single poisoner cost mankind.If step-dames seek their sons-in-law to kill,'Tis venial trespass—let them have their will;But let the child, entrusted to the careOf his own mother, of her bread beware;Beware the food she reaches with her hand,—The morsel is intended for thy land.Thy tutor be thy taster, ere thou eat;There's poison in thy drink and in thy meat.You think this feigned; the satire, in a rage,Struts in the buskins of the tragic stage;Forgets his business is to laugh and bite,And will of deaths and dire revenges write.Would it were all a fable that you read!But Drymon's wife[140]pleads guilty to the deed.I, she confesses, in the fact was caught,Two sons dispatching at one deadly draught.What, two! two sons, thou viper, in one day!Yes, seven, she cries, if seven were in my way.Medea's legend is no more a lie,Our age adds credit to antiquity.Great ills, we grant, in former times did reign,And murders then were done, but not for gain.Less admiration to great crimes is due,Which they through wrath, or through revenge pursue;For, weak of reason, impotent of will,The sex is hurried headlong into ill;And like a cliff, from its foundations tornBy raging earthquakes, into seas is borne.But those are fiends, who crimes from thought begin,And, cool in mischief, meditate the sin.They read the example of a pious wife,Redeeming, with her own, her husband's life;Yet if the laws did that exchange afford,Would save their lap-dog sooner than their lord.Where'er you walk the Belides[141]you meet,And Clytemnestras grow in every street;But here's the difference,—Agamemnon's wifeWas a gross butcher with a bloody knife;But murder now is to perfection grown,And subtle poisons are employed alone;Unless some antidote prevents their arts,And lines with balsam all the nobler parts.In such a case, reserved for such a need,Rather than fail, the dagger does the deed.

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