John Dryden - Delphi Poets Series

by John Dryden

  And for a nasty Room gives double pay;

  That Room in which the rankest Harlot lay. 175

  Prepar’d 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 expir’d, 180

  And every Strumpet from her Cell retir’d,

  She lags behind, and lingring at the Gate,

  With a repining Sigh, submits to Fate:

  All Filth without, and all a Fire within,

  Tir’d with the Toyl, unsated with the Sin, 185

  Old Cæsar’s Bed the modest Matron seeks;

  The steam of Lamps still hanging on her Checks,

  In Ropy Smut: thus foul, and thus bedight,

  She brings him back the Product of the Night.

  Now should I sing what Poisons they provide; 190

  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 ev’ry Vice, by her own Lord Renown’d: 195

  And well she may, she brought ten thousand Pound.

  She brought him wherewithal to be call’d chaste;

  His Tongue is ty’d in Golden Fetters fast

  He Sighs, Adores, and Courts her every Hour;

  Who wou’d not do as much for such a Dower? 200

  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 Priviledge of Widow-hood.

  These Truths with his Example you disprove, 205

  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, 210

  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; 215

  And knowing time is Precious, loses none:

  She must have Flocks of Sheep, with Wool more Fine

  Than Silk, and Vinyards of the Noblest Wine:

  Whole Droves of Pages for her Train she Craves:

  And sweeps the Prisons for attending Slaves. 220

  In short, whatever in her Eyes can come,

  Or others have abroad, she wants at home.

  When Winter shuts the Seas, and fleecy Snows

  Make Houses white, she to the Merchant goes;

  Rich Crystals of the Rock She takes up there, 225

  Huge Agat Vases, and old China Ware:

  Then Berenice’s Ring her Finger proves,

  More Precious made by her incestuous Loves:

  And infamously Dear: A Brother’s Bribe,

  Ev’n God’s Annointed, and of Judah’s Tribe: 230

  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 Unblemish’d Life; 235

  Chast as the Sabines, whose prevailing Charms

  Dismiss’d their Husbands, and their Brothers Arms.

  Grant her, besides, of Noble Blood, that ran

  In Ancient Veins, e’re Heraldry began:

  Suppose all these, and take a Poet’s word, 240

  A Black Swan is not half so Rare a Bird.

  A Wife, so hung with Virtues, such a freight,

  What Mortal Shoulders cou’d support the weight!

  Some Country Girl, scarce to a Curtsey bred,

  Wou’d I much rather than Cornelia Wed: 245

  If Supercilious, Haughty, Proud, and Vain,

  She brought her Father’s Triumphs in her Train.

  Away with all your Carthaginian State,

  Let vanquish’d Hannibal without Doors wait,

  Too burly and too big to pass my narrow Gate. 250

  Oh Pæan, cries Amphion, 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;

  Ev’n her who did her num’rous Offspring boast, 255

  As Fair and Fruitful as the Sow that carry’d

  The Thirty Pigs at one large Litter Farrow’d.

  What Beauty or what Chastity can bear

  So great a Price, if stately and severe

  She still insults, and you must still adore? 260

  Grant that the Hony’s much, the Gall is more.

  Upbraided with the Virtues she displays,

  Sev’n Hours in Twelve, you loath the Wife you Praise:

  Some Faults, tho small, intolerable grow;

  For what so Nauseous and Affected too, 265

  As those that think they due Perfection want,

  Who have not learnt to Lisp the Grecian Cant?

  In Greece, their whole Accomplishments they seek:

  Their Fashion, Breeding, Language, must be Greek:

  But Raw in all that does to Rome belong, 270

  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:

  Ev’n in the Feat of Love, they use that Tongue.

  Such Affectations may become the Young; 275

  But thou, Old Hag, of Threescore Years and Three,

  Is shewing of thy Parts in Greek for thee?

  [Greek]! All those tender words

  The Momentary trembling Bliss affords,

  The kind soft Murmurs of the private Sheets, 280

  Are Bawdy, while thou speak’st in publick 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 slacken’d Nerve can strain. 285

  If then thy Lawful Spouse thou canst not love,

  What reason shou’d thy Mind to Marriage move?

  Why all the Charges of the Nuptial Feast,

  Wine and Deserts and Sweet-meats to digest?

  Th’ indoweing Gold that buys the dear Delight, 290

  Giv’n for thy first and only happy Night?

  If thou art thus Uxoriously inclin’d,

  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. 295

  For tho, 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, 300

  All Offices of Ancient Friendship dye;

  Nor hast thou leave to make a Legacy.

  By thy Imperious Wife thou art bereft

  A Priviledge, to Pimps and Panders left;

  Thy Testament’s her Will; Where she prefers 305

  Her Ruffians, Drudges, and Adulterers,

  Adopting all thy Rivals for thy Heirs.

  Go drag that Slave to Death; your Reason, why

  Shou’d the poor Innocent be doom’d to Dye?

  What proofs? for, when Man’s Life is in debate, 310

  The Judge can ne’re too long deliberate.

  Call’st thou that Slave a Man? the Wife replies:

  Prov’d, or unprov’d, the Crime,
the Villain Dies.

  I have the Soveraign Pow’r to save or kill;

  And give no other Reason but my Will. 315

  Thus the She-Tyrant Reigns, till pleas’d with change,

  Her wild Affections to New Empires Range:

  Another Subject-Husband she desires;

  Divorc’d from him, she to the first retires,

  While the last Wedding-Feast is scarcely o’re, 320

  And Garlands hang yet green upon the Door.

  So still the Reck’ning rises; and appears

  In total Sum, Eight Husbands in Five Years.

  The Title for a Tomb-Stone might be fit;

  But that it wou’d too commonly be writ. 325

  Her Mother Living, hope no quiet Day;

  She sharpens her, instructs her how to Flea

  Her Husband bare, and then divides the Prey.

  She takes Love-Letters, with a Crafty smile,

  And, in her Daughter’s Answer, mends the stile. 330

  In vain the Husband sets his watchful Spies;

  She Cheats their cunning, or she bribes their Eyes.

  The Doctor’s call’d; the Daughter, taught the Trick,

  Pretends to faint; and in full Health is Sick.

  The Panting Stallion, at the Closet-Door, 335

  Hears the Consult, and wishes it were o’re.

  Can’st thou, in Reason, hope, a Bawd so known

  Shou’d teach her other Manners than her own?

  Her Int’rest is in all th’ Advice she gives:

  ’Tis on the Daughter’s Rents the Mother lives. 340

  No Cause is try’d at the Litigious Bar,

  But Women Plaintiffs or Defendants are,

  They form the Process, all the Briefs they write,

  The Topicks furnish, and the Pleas indite;

  And teach the Toothless Lawyer how to Bite. 345

  They turn Virago’s too; the Wrastler’s toyl

  They try, and Smear their Naked Limbs with Oyl:

  Against the Post, their wicker Shields they crush,

  Flourish the Sword, and at the Plastron push

  Of every Exercise the Mannish Crew 350

  Fulfils the Parts, and oft Excels us too;

  Prepar’d not only in feign’d Fights t’ engage,

  But rout the Gladiators on the Stage.

  What sence of shame in such a Breast can lye,

  Inur’d to Arms, and her own Sex to fly? 355

  Yet to be wholly Man she wou’d disclaim;

  To quit her tenfold Pleasure at the Game,

  For frothy Praises, and an Empty Name.

  Oh what a decent Sight ’tis to behold

  All thy Wife’s Magazine by Auction sold! 360

  The Belt, the crested Plume, the several Suits

  Of Armour, and the Spanish Leather Boots!

  Yet these are they, that cannot bear the heat

  Of figur’d Silks, and under Sarcenet sweat.

  Behold the strutting Amazonian Whore, 365

  She stands in Guard with her right Foot before:

  Her Coats Tuck’d up; and all her Motions just,

  She stamps, and then Cries, hah at ev’ry thrust:

  But laugh to see her, tyr’d with many a bout,

  Call for the Pot, and like a Man Piss out. 370

  The Ghosts of Ancient Romans, shou’d they rise,

  Wou’d grin to see their Daughters play a Prize.

  Besides, what endless Brawls by Wifes are bred:

  The Curtain-Lecture makes a Mournful Bed.

  Then, when she has thee sure within the Sheets, 375

  Her Cry begins, and the whole Day repeats.

  Conscious of Crimes her self, she teyzes first;

  Thy Servants are accus’d; thy Whore is curst;

  She Acts the jealous, and at Will she cries;

  For Womens Tears are but the sweat of Eyes. 380

  Poor Cuckold-Fool, thou think’st that Love sincere,

  And suck’st between her Lips, the falling Tear:

  But search her Cabinet, and thou shalt find

  Each Tiller there with Love Epistles lin’d.

  Suppose her taken in a close embrace, 385

  This you wou’d think so manifest a Case,

  No Rhetorick could defend, no Impudence outface:

  And yet even then she Cries the Marriage Vow

  A mental Reservation must allow;

  And there’s a silent bargain still imply’d, 390

  The Parties shou’d be pleas’d on either side:

  And both may for their private needs provide.

  Tho Men your selves, and Women us you call,

  Yet Homo is a Common Name for all.

  There’s nothing bolder than a Woman Caught; 395

  Guilt gives ‘em Courage to maintain their Fault.

  You ask from whence proceed these monstrous Crimes?

  Once Poor, and therefore Chast, in former times,

  Our Matrons were: No Luxury found room

  In low-rooft Houses, and bare Walls of Lome; 400

  Their Hands with Labour hard’ned while ’twas Light,

  And Frugal sleep supply’d the quiet Night,

  While pinch’t with want, their Hunger held ‘em straight;

  When Hannibal was Hov’ring at the Gate:

  But wanton now, and lolling at our Ease, 405

  We suffer all th’ invet’rate ills of Peace,

  And wastful Riot; whose Destructive Charms

  Revenge the vanquish’d World, of our Victorious Arms.

  No Crime, no Lustful Postures are unknown;

  Since Poverty, our Guardian-God, is gone: 410

  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. 415

  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; 420

  Brimmers the last Provocatives of Lust,

  When Vapours to their swimming Brains advance,

  And double Tapers on the Tables dance.

  Now think what Bawdy Dialogues they have,

  What Tullia talks to her confiding Slave, 425

  At Modesty’s old Statue: when by Night

  They 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 nam’d the Good, 430

  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 Musick rais’d, they spread abroad their Hair;

  And toss their Heads like an enamour’d Mare: 435

  Laufella lays her Garland by, and proves

  The mimick Leachery of Manly Loves.

  Rank’d with the Lady, the cheap Sinner lies;

  For here not Blood, but Virtue gives the prize.

  Nothing is feign’d in this Venereal Strife; 440

  ’Tis downright Lust, and Acted to the Life.

  So full, so fierce, so vigorous, and so strong,

  That, looking on, wou’d make old Nestor Young.

  Impatient of delay, a general sound,

  An universal Groan of Lust goes round; 445

  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-back’d Knaves. 450

  I wish, at least, our Sacred Rites were free

  From those Po
llutions of Obscenity:

  But ’tis well known what Singer, how disguis’d,

  A lewd audacious Action enterpriz’d:

  Into the Fair with Women mixt, he went, 455

  Arm’d with a huge two-handed Instrument;

  A grateful Present to those holy Quires,

  Where the Mouse guilty of his Sex retires:

  And even Male-Pictures modestly are vaild;

  Yet no Profaneness on that Age prevail’d; 460

  No Scoffers at Religious Rites were found:

  Tho now, at every Altar they abound.

  I hear your cautious Counsel, you wou’d say,

  Keep close your Women under Lock and Key:

  But, who shall keep those Keepers? Women, nurst 465

  In Craft, begin with those, and Bribe ‘em first.

  The Sex is turn’d all Whore; they Love the Game:

  And Mistresses, and Maids, are both the same.

  The poor Ogulnia, on the Poet’s day,

  Will borrow Cloaths, and Chair, to see the Play: 470

  She, who before had Mortgag’d her Estate,

  And Pawn’d the last remaining piece of Plate.

  Some are reduc’d their utmost Shifts to try:

  But Women have no shame of Poverty.

  They live beyond their stint; as if their store 475

  The more exhausted, wou’d increase the more:

  Some Men, instructed by the Lab’ring Ant,

  Provide against th’ Extremities of want;

  But Womankind, that never knows a mean,

  Down to the Dregs their sinking Fortune drain: 480

  Hourly they give, and spend, and wast, 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 joy 485

  Is when the Page, already past a Boy,

  Is Capon’d late; and to the Guelder shown

  With his two Pounders to Perfection grown.

  When all the Navel-string cou’d give, appears;

  All but the Beard; and that’s the Barber’s loss, not theirs. 490

  Seen from afar, and famous for his ware,

  He struts into the Bath, among the Fair:

  Th’ admiring Crew to their Devotions fall;

  And, kneeling, on their new Priapus call.

  Kerv’d for his Lady’s use, and with her lies; 495

  And let him drudge for her, if thou art wise,

  Rather than trust him with thy Fav’rite Boy;

  He proffers Death in proffering to enjoy.

  If Songs they love, the Singer’s Voice they force

  Beyond his Compass till his Quail-Pipe’s hoarse; 500

  His Lute and Lyre with their embrace is worn;

  With Knots they trim it, and with Gems adorn: