The Maids answer to the
Batchelors Ballad.
Or, Love without Remedy.
Thou Scriber! unto whom the Vulgar crew,
Gives small applause, yet more then is thy due;
Whose Brazen Brow, a wither'd Wreath adorns,
Which better wou'd become a pair of Horns:
Know we contemn thee: thy Malicious Pen
Can have no influence on the minds of men:
In our dispraise, in vain thou seek'st to write,
True, thou mayst shew thy teeth, but canst not bite.
Alas! rude Boy; Love is a generous pain,
Which minds ignoble, cannot entertain:
Therefore thy accusations are unjust,
In giving Love the Character of Lust.
With Allowance, By Ro. L'Estrange.
To the Tune of; No mores silly Cupid: Or,
The Duke of Monmouth's Jig.
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WHo's here so ingenious
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mispending his time,
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In railing at Venus,
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In hopes to disparage,
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Love, Women, and marriage,
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By pittiful rhime?
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He thinks he's ingenious
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and slyly the youngster intices;
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But we easily find,
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How the youth is inclin'd,
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by his tricks and devices.
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He plainly discovers
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his amorous arts,
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And calls 'em blind lovers,
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Who after enjoyment,
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can find new employment,
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to fetter their hearts:
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He plainly discovers
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a nature so rude and ingrateful,
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That after Compliance,
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he bids us defiance,
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and says we grow hateful.
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Then who but an Harlot
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would yield to the will
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Of ev'ry such Varlet,
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That loves at his leisure,
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And onely takes pleasure,
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in shewing his skill?
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Sure none but an harlot,
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would yield to the lustful persuasi-on,
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of fellows in Shammy,
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who onely cry Dam, me,
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to serve their occasions.
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The gawdy young Sinner,
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whose blood is afire,
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May fool a beginner,
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and treat her with Coaches,
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to mighty debauches,
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and gain his desire:
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Alas! for the Sinner,
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that covets such sweetness as this is!
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he seldom does fail,
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of a sting in the tail,
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with his wenches and Misses.
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THis makes him look meager,
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a wantoning Elf,
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His mind is so eager
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to humour his sences,
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that by his expences,
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he ruines himself:
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This makes him so meager,
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he's nothing but pox and diseases,
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so after enjoying,
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the pleasure is cloying,
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and quickly displeases.
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Then shew me the woman,
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in City or Town,
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Tho' never so common,
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With such a lewd fellow,
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so tawny and yellow,
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will laugh and lye down:
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For sure she's no Woman
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that trades with a son for a Whore,
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who having enjoy'd her,
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will strait-way avoid her,
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and see her no more.
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The passionate Lover,
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that's caught in his youth,
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May plainly discover
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that all his persuasions
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are subtle evasions,
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and far from the truth:
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For he that's a Lover,
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and courteth sincerely and truly,
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may keep his affection
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in civil subjection,
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from being unruly.
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But let the fond Bully,
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his fancy employ,
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He never can fully
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or bring in suspition,
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the sweets of fruition,
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true lovers enjoy:
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In spight of the Bully,
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the pleasure of Conjugal kisses,
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is always delightful
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and far the more frightful,
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of temporal blisses.
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And yet for the Gallant,
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we must not deny:
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But that he's so valiant
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as stoutly to threaten,
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the girl shall be beaten,
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that will not comply:
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Beware of the Gallant!
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I vow he's a desperate creature,
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If any abuse him,
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Or dare to refuse him,
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he swears he will beat her.
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Sir Fopling, your Servant!
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the man's in a pett:
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What makes you so fervent?
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You burn in displeasure,
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pray cool at your leisure:
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that's all you will get:
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Your Servant, Sir Fopling,
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say all, and do more than you can sir,
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still my opinion,
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We shall have dominion,
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take that for an answer.
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