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ID Title Author Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) STC Words Pages
A51672 Mysogynus, or, A satyr upon women 1682 (1682) Wing M3178; ESTC R26852 3,144 12

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Mysogynus OR A SATYR UPON WOMEN IN DOMINO CONFIDO LONDON Printed for John Langly Bookseller in Oxford MDCLXXXII An Advertisement Courteous Reader THE Author would let you to understand that he intends not to determine whether or no the stronger hath any just cause of quarrel with the weaker Sex or if they have that he designs not that this Paper should contain an Indictment But being one that loves peace and quietness thought good to disburden his yet unprejudiced mind that he might sleep more undisturbedly It is far from our drift to make the Married man pick a quarrel with his Wife or the unmarried out of Love with his Mistress but to make both the more admire what they find admirable Such is the use the Author himself makes of it and such he hopes you will too MYSOGYNUS OR A Satyr upon Women LAte come from Derby's Peak where Women do Beat their poor Cuckold Husbands black and blue And which is worse make nothing of it too I 'm mad to see the poor men thus abus'd And would by all means have them better us'd And now were I outlandish then I 'd rant With liberty of Tongue which now I want I 'd force a smart Burlesque on those slie Creatures That thus Tongue-tyed us with their slier features Poor Country-men not only chous'd of their right hand They can't the priviledge of the Wall command Not only cow'd but to laugh at them too They 've gull'd them of their wordst ' express their woe What shall I do for English words t' employ On this dire theme which Foreigners enjoy Foreigners that know how to use command Like Caesar when they 've got the upper hand But we are mute or have our language lost Which these Decoys have to themselves ingrost You 'd think they 'll scold in such a lasting stile That one poor Tongue could not serve all the while Till then I 've made my Satyr quite compleat I 'll shake the Letters of the Alphabet But I do want for what I would contrive Unless you will allow me twenty five But our School-Dames allow but four and say That after Z there 's no Et caetera Conscious that if Et caetera should be known We should prove scolds in telling them their own How haughtily upon the English-man they tread Stark drunk with Pride they ride a free Horse dead We 'll ne'r endure 't come subject Hearts I 'll paraphrase upon a Womans parts And when I cannot think what bad enough to say I 'll brand her name with black Et caetera Whate're was left unfit in the Creation To make a Toad after its ugly fashion Of scrapings from unfinished Creatures had Sure was the body of a Woman made Yet there 's some finer Atoms daub'd upon Which makes her seem so beauteous to look on Nor better is a Womans end nor can Born only to Night-mare the Soul of Man Nor is he only plagued by her birth She is an Universal Curse unto the Earth Some say the ground with barrenness is curst Where in the Morn she strains her body first Surely she was not th' end of the Creation But made by th' by huddled at any fashion She 's some imperfect thing it needs must follow She sounds so loud impertinently hollow So shrill and empty that you 'd swear i'faith She 'd no more Soul in her than a Cannon hath Unless inhabited by incarnate Devils Sent to disturb mens peace with their loud evils You 'd think that she was made so fair her face Only for to officiate the Devils place Why are we men not fearful at her sight As at the Devils walking in the night The one as hurtful as the other nay She is more Devil of the two they say In the beginning of the World says one When man did absolutely rule alone When there was no such thing as Woman known To be mans partner in his Regal Throne When Man was gotten not with Copulation But Men spawn'd Men after a brisker fashion A more ingenious way of Propagation When Men were bent whatever stop was given And nolens volens had gone all to Heaven Then threw the Devil these same Golden Balls To stop his full career with gentle falls Then first was man bewitch'd then first Did man make Reason truckle to his Lust Then first was Man bed-ridden with these Devils Certainly of all this sure the worst of Evils Infernal Imps I thought but now and then Were wont to haunt the seats of living men But now these Spirits incarnate are so bold They are familiar and will have and hold Of whatsoever's his and will controul Where e're he goes or comes his haunted Soul Woman What shall I say Infernal Creature Thou 'st so degenerated mans soft Nature That he has quite forgot his Primitive state And thinks it natural to copulate With an Hell-bred Familiar such his fate And counts his Off-spring all Legitimate Think with the Atheist that there is no God Nor can this cunning Creature be his Rod Sent down at second thoughts to plague poor men I 'll whip her fame as bad I 'll warrant then I will invent some wicked thing upon her That you would think impossible to sham on her To make her what she is one way or t'other I 'll make her ragged Atoms t' hang together Then let us strive to make a tall a proper A fair deceitful that is a Woman of her Who can't a necessary good commence Because she is a being came by chance So may Men pray that some Chance would surround her And take her there where Chance her Maker found her And now within so boundless huge a place Whose vast immensity admits no space To be call'd up or down gone to be lost Thousands of Atoms eternally are tost So that I do despair amidst them all Of finding out Womans original Thus spying Nature labouring I find The large frame begun within my larger mind I see things coming gradually to perfection At length compleated by coacervation Nor had this Joynted Baby of my mind Scarce all it s shuffled parts combin'd But straight some unforc'd Particles we see That will with no part of the frame agree Which hookt together by themselves became The imperfect thing that Men do Woman name Hence 't is we in her composition find Such a strange medley made of every kind From Man a snip of Rationality The rest from Beasts the Goat and Chatter-Pye Then whate're Nature thought unfit to be Mixt with the substance of the Creature she Design'd to be th' Master-piece of her Art Doth all lie centred in a Womans Heart All the crookt Atoms and the rough that joyn'd Raise Malice Fear and Passions in the mind All those from whose cross disposition rise Envy and Hate Despair and Jealousies Nature rejected as unfit to be Ingredients of Man the Creature she Intended for the Worlds Epitome Then whatsoever's left that can produce A Hellish mould fit for the Devils use Whatever's Ill Depraved or what not That is so thought falls not to Womans lot Evil is so ingrafted in her parts you 'd swear She 'd not one dram of good to boast of there Her wicked qualities which we think occult From th' disposition of her parts result She 'll lie and cog and flatter with the best Though Nature otherwise teaches Humane Breast Woman is so unnatural a Beast She is ' gainst Nature so entire a Sinner It is impossible for goodness to be in her All the depravity that is controul And have predominancy in a Womans Soul Kneaded and woven in her parts within And are inseparable as her Skin When careful Nature had the World quite ended Sound Wind and Limb then she had it befriended If she had quite expell'd this rotten part Which so corrupts all other to the Heart Then the straight-limb'd World might chance perhaps To have liv'd strong and free from all her Claps Nay t' would have been eternal for I 'm sure What hath no cause of corruption will for e're endure Such would the World be had not Woman been For all Corruption Putrefaction Sin And what is worse if worse there be all came From Woman and Woman as their Parent claim Like Prometheus Vulture she feeds on Mans poor Breast Like Brass she cankers some and eats the rest She 'll kill as does a Basilisk or worse if 't can Insensibly she blinds and burns the Man Her outside 's fair and pleasing when the while She kills as craftily as the Crocodile Usurps his right raigns o're her fellow slaves Nor won't admit her Lord to go her halves She alone was the cause when she usurp't the Throne Nor any other was 't that Hell it self was known Whate're's irregular done 't is she doth do 't Univerfal Mischief is her Attribute Now Reader if thou hast what 's worse to say Pray say 't for that is hers Et caetera FINIS