T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
A Satire against Love
By Alexander Ratcliff(London. 1705) THOU doting fond besotted amorous fool; | |
Shame to thy sex, return again to school, | |
A whining lover is a sorry tool. | |
Learn a new lesson, vex thyself no more, | |
Kick that blind bastard Cupid out of door, | 5 |
His mother Venus was a common whore. | |
What is’t that makes thy sense and reason stray? | |
And fondly bears thy captive soul away? | |
Is it her beauty makes thy heart her prey? | |
The fairest face that ever nature made, | 10 |
A little sickness soon will make it fade, | |
’Tis naught but worms and dust in masquerade. | |
Or do you on your mistress’ virtue dote? | |
Tell me, I should be very glad to know it, | |
What virtue dwells beneath a petticoat? | 15 |
Women are strange dissemblers: They’ll appear | |
So sweetly innocent and good, you’d swear | |
They were all angels, when they devils are. | |
Doth she a magazine of wealth command, | |
Fetched from the bowels of the sea and land, | 20 |
The Oriental pearl, and Indian sand? | |
Those glittering toys indeed may please the eyes | |
Of some base miser; but the brave and wise | |
Place their content beyond such fooleries. | |
Fill me a bowl with some rich Grecian wine, | 25 |
That sprightly nectar shall my wit refine, | |
And make me bravely act the libertine. | |
In Bacchanalian feasts I’ll sorrows drown; | |
And when my blood grows warm I’ll range the town, | |
And seize on all I meet, fair, black, or brown. | 30 |
Women by nature were or at first designed, | |
To be enjoyed by man, and thou shalt find, | |
If this proves cross, the next will be more kind. | |
Their inclination’s strong what e’er they say, | |
And hate who court the dull Platonic way; | 35 |
That monsieur pleases best, who’s brisk and gay. | |
No longer then in whining language court— | |
But if your mistress does deny you sport, | |
Ravish her first, and then she’ll thank you for ’t. | |
Perhaps she’ll faintly strive and cry, ‘you men | 40 |
Are wondrous rude—I vow you shant,’—and then | |
Swear that you never shall come there again. | |
The deed once done; she’ll feign herself perplext: | |
‘Fie! you’re wondrous naught—Indeed I’m vext, | |
But prithee dear, when shall I see thee next?’ | 45 |
With cunning arts, thus they inveagle man: | |
But they shall never more my soul trappan, | |
Catch me again you gypsies if you can. | |
To spend our precious time ’twixt hope and fear, | |
And let a paltry woman domineer, | 50 |
’Tis better be a vassal in Algier. | |