Laetitia Pilkington

Nay, Doll, quoth Roger, now you're caught,
I'll never let you go
Till you consent, —To what? says Doll,
Zounds, Doll, why, do'stn't know?
She faintly screamed, and vowed she would
If hurt, cry out aloud;
Ne'er fear, says he, then seized the fair,
She sighed—and sighed—and vowed,—
A'nt I a Man, quoth Roger, ha!
Me you need never doubt,
Now did I hurt you, Doll? quoth he,
Or, pray? says Doll, did I cry out?

or, The Wary Physician A doctor, of great skill and fame,
Paulo Purganti was his name,
Had a good, comely, virtuous wife;
No woman led a better life:

Lying is an occupation,
Used by all who mean to rise;
Politicians owe their station,
But to well concerted lies.

These to lovers give assistance,
To ensnare the fair-one's heart;
And the virgin's best resistance
Yields to this commanding art.

Strephon, your breach of faith and trust
Affords me no surprise;
A man who grateful was, or just,
Might make my wonder rise.

That heart to you so fondly tied,
With pleasure wore its chain,
But from your cold neglectful pride,
Found liberty again.

For this no wrath inflames my mind,
My thanks are due to thee;
Such thanks as gen'rous victors find,
Who set their captives free.

I ask not wit, nor beauty do I crave,
Nor wealth, nor pompous titles wish to have;
But since, 'tis doomed through all degrees of life,
Whether a daughter, sister, or a wife;
That females should the stronger males obey,
And yield implicit to their lordly sway;
Since this, I say, is ev'ry woman's fate,
Give me a mind to suit my slavish state.