Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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ID |
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Author |
Corrected Date of Publication (TCP Date of Publication) |
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A25265
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The folly of love, or, An essay upon satyr against woman
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Ames, Richard, d. 1693.
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1691
(1691)
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Wing A2980; ESTC R34203
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10,003
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31
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Drake Monsters he saw but rarely here and there But here whole Droves of Cuckolds would appear The patient angry and unthinking one Whose Wife 's a Jilt yet he 'll believe her none Happy 's the Man that 's handsomly deceiv'd VVhose VVife both Swears and Lyes and is beleiv'd Nay take the best of all these Clogs of Life I mean if such there be a vertuous VVife She that with new Indearments ev'ry Night Provokes Desire and hightens Appetite Her Female Fondness will destruction prove Like Opium to the choice delights of Love For what we may at any time enjoy Does ev'n the relish of the Bliss destroy To Pleasure difficulty adds a Gust I cannot Love and yet I must be just So when to duty inclination turns How faintly th' Hymenial-Taper burns And no Man yet could ever learn the Art T' Insure a Womans fickle roving Heart That valued thing her Beauty may decay And Love will wear insensibly away And when the occasion of the Passion 's fled Sure Inclination will be faint or dead But if to'r natural Infirmities Be added some acute and sharp Disease Then Doctors and Apothecaries come And with their Pots and Glasses fill the room Thrice happy he to whom such luck does fall T' imbrace Disease and VVedd an Hospitall All Swell'd with Sighs and Blubber'd with her Tears A new made VVidow next in view appears Beating her Breast and tearing off her Hair She seems the very Emblem of Despair One would imagin that some mighty matter Was meant by all this hideous noise and clatter When her whole mourning's but a perfect Cheat For she ne're weeps but 't is when others see 't Alone her Sorrows to her Hopes give place She 's form'd the project of a new Embrace And e're her Husband in the Grave be laid Her Thoughts are of a Second Bridal-Bed A Maidens Vertue may perhaps be sense But who e're heard of Widows continence For their frail Tenements were ne're design'd T indure a Seige so often Vndermin'd If she be Young her Inclinations speak Spite of her Dress of black Bandore and Peak A Garb invented for to let us know That the late Tenants Lease is out below For Pious Inclinations seldom fail To lurk beneath a Youthful Widows Vail Tell me ye Fortune-Hunters of the Age Who with new Faces ev'ry hour engage If for one easy Fond believing Maid Twice fifty Am'rous Widows have not fled Into your Arms for 't is the Creed they hold One Warm Bedfellow's worth a hundred cold The Worn out Soldier finds an Hospital And Wither'd Age does for an Alms-house call The Charter-house for Gentlemen decay'd And Widows were for Younger Brothers made One in an Age perhaps there may be known A Widow laugh at all the Fops in Town Live like th' Ephesian Matron all forlorn Refuse all Visits all Pretenders Scorn Yet there 's a time But rarely understood When Sorrow gives the Wall to Flesh and Blood Then if the Lucky Minute be but known Ply your Suit warm she 's certainly your own To these poor Souls perhaps I may be civil But VVidows Old and Am'rous are the Devil Rather converted into Willow-Switch I 'd e'ry night be Hagg-rid by a VVitch The greatest curse I rather would prefer Than enter into loathed Sheets with her As equally offensive to my Arms As an old Maid by Age depriv'd of charms For tho' she may be vain and think to please Yet Fifty's an Incurable Disease Oh! with what mighty pleasure shee 'l relate Like Cavileers the Wars in forty eight What fine young Sparks her humble Servants were And how she made them languish with despair But yet her Vertue was as much above Their Flatteries as they beneath her Love Her Vertue Dam her with her canting stile When 't was her Pride preserv'd her all the while For let all Women till they 'r weary prate That Honour stands as Centry at the Gate That Innocence and Vertue are their Crown 'T is Pride 't is Pride that keeps their Linnen down Their peevish Vertue keeps them chast in spight By day their Guard and Bugbear all the night True Hypocrites who what they chiefly covet Seem most t' abhor and hate it when they love it Now nice then free now grave and then more common There is no other Riddle but a Woman Oh Woman Woman who can ere Rehearse In lasting Prose or much more lasting Verse What mighty Mischiefs have by thee been done Since angry Nature thee to Frame begun Who but an haughty Cleopatra cost Mark Anthony the World for her 't was lost Who was 't the Roman Capitol Betray'd But a perfideous Whore some call a Maid Who was the cause of a ten long Years War When Warlike Greeks and Trojans were at Jar But Hellen stole by Paris when he 'd dont Caus'd a long VVar upon the score of For her offended Husband Swore in rage Ten Thousand Lives should ne're his wrath asswage There never was a Plot or close design The quiet of a State to undermine Or private Family to ruin brought Wherein a Woman was not in the Plot Let who will lead the Van 't is plain and clear In Mischief Women still bring up the Rear Yet they of Plots poor Souls do know no more Than he that Form'd the Project just before Thus we 've of Women made a short Survey And lightly touch'd their Vices in our way But a Fond Lover with his sensless Muse Will all their Frailties and their Faults excuse For is his Mistress ugly beyond thought She is his Queen his Goddess and what not If she with Moles and Spots be Larded o're He 'l tell you Venus had a Mole before He for her Limping has some pretty hints She seems to him to Languish when she Squints If Foolish Lord how Innocent she is Nay her Malicious Wit is sure to please If Drowsy-look'd she has the Air of France If Sluttish 't is but a-la-Negligence If Tawdry and Ill-drest she 's Modish thought For Love can make a Venus of a Slut If she Sings worse than a Hoarse Smithfield-Truli To her's the Musick of the Sphears is dull If VVither'd Old Age for Respect doth call And Bags to make her Young will never fail If Lewd as Cresswell in her youthful days Yet to her Vertue he will Altars raise Let the deluded Fool go on till 's greatest curse Be those few words for better and for worse Oh! were there but some Island vast and wide Where Nature 's Drest in all her choicest Pride The Air Serene as Thoughts of Angels be Fertile the Ground Spontaneous and Free Producing all things which we useful call As Edens-Garden did before the Fall Of Choicest Vines an inexhausted store With Swelling Clusters ready to run o're With their own plenty of the Godlike Juice Which seems in Man a second Soul t' infuse There with a Score of Choice Selected Friends Who know no private Interests nor Ends We'd Live and could we Procreate like Trees And without Womans Aid Promote and Propogate our Species The Day in Sports and innocent Delight We'd spend and in soft Slumber wast the Night Sometimes within a private Grotto meet With gen'rous Wines and Fruits our selves we 'd Treat Ambition Envy and that Meager Train Should never interrupt our Peaceful Raign Blest with Strong-Health and a most quiet mind Each day our Thoughts should new Diversion find But never never think on Woman-kind FINIS Sr. C. S.