To taste, and offer
Reject his greasy kindness, and restore
Th' unsav'ry morsel he had chew'd before.
Nor let his arms embrace your neck, nor rest
Your tender cheek upon his hairy breast.
Let not his hand within your bosom stray,
And rudely with your pretty bubbies play.
But above all, let him no kiss receive;
That's an offence I never can forgive.
Do not, O do not that sweet mouth resign,
Lest I rise up in arms, and cry, 'Tis mine.
I shall thrust in betwixt, and void of fear
The manifest adulterer will appear.
These things are plain to sight; but more I doubt
What you conceal beneath your petticoat.
Take not his leg between your tender thighs,
Nor with your hand, provoke my foe to rise.
How many love-inventions I deplore,
Which I myself have practis'd all before?
How oft have I been forc'd the robe to lift
In company; to make a homely shift
For a bare bout, ill huddled o'er in haste,
While o'er my side the fair her mantle cast.
You to your husband shall not be so kind;
But, lest you should, your mantle leave behind.
Encourage him to tope; but kiss him not,
Nor mix one drop of water in his pot.
If he be fuddled well, and snores apace,
Then we may take advice from time and place.
When all depart, when compliments are loud,
Be sure to mix among the thickest crowd:
There I will be, and there we cannot miss,
Perhaps to grubble, or at least to kiss.
Alas! what length of labour I employ,
Just to secure a short and transient joy!
For night must part us: and when night is come,
Tuck'd underneath his arm he leads you home.
He locks you in; I follow to the door,
His fortune envy, and my own deplore.
He kisses you, he more than kisses too;
Th' outrageous cuckold thinks it all his due.
But add not to his joy by your consent,
And let it not be given, but only lent.
Return no kiss, nor move in any sort ;
Make it a dull and a malignant sport.
Had I my wish, he should no pleasure take,
But slubber o'er your business for my sake.
And whate'er fortune shall this night befall,
Coax me to-morrow, by forswearing all.
IF for thyself thou wilt not watch thy whore, Watch her for me, that I may love her more. What comes with ease, we nauseously receive, Who, but a sot, would scorn to love with leave?
With hopes and fears my flames are blown up
Make me despair, and then I can desire. [higher?
Give me a jilt to tease my jealous mind;
Deceits are virtues in the female kind.
Corinna my fantastic humour knew,
Play'd trick for trick, and kept herself still new:
She, that next night I might the sharper come,
Fell out with me, and sent me fasting home;
Or some pretence to lie alone would take;
Whene'er she pleas'd, her head and teeth would ake:
Till having won me to the highest strain,
She took occasion to be sweet again.
With what a gust, ye gods, we then embrac❜d!
How ev'ry kiss was dearer than the last!
Thou whom I now adore, be edified,
Take care that I may often be denied.
Forget the promis'd hour, or feign some fright,
Make me lie rough on bulks each other night.
These are the arts that best secure thy reign,
And this the food, that must my fires maintain.
Gross easy love does, like gross diet, pall,
In squeasy stomachs honey turns to gall.
Had Danaë not been kept in brazen tow'rs,
Jove had not thought her worth his golden show'rs.
When Juno to a cow turn'd Io's shape,
The watchman help'd her to a second leap.
Let him who loves an easy Whetstone whore,
Pluck leaves from trees, and drink the common-
The jilting harlot strikes the surest blow,
A truth which I by sad experience know.
The kind poor constant creature we despise; 35
Man but pursues the quarry while it flies.
But thou, dull husband of a wife too fair,
Stand on thy guard, and watch the precious ware;
If creaking doors, or barking dogs thou hear,
Or windows scratch'd, suspect a rival there.
An orange wench would tempt thy wife abroad ;
Kick her, for she's a letter-bearing bawd;
In short, be jealous as the devil in hell!
And set my wit on work to cheat thee well.
The sneaking city-cuckold is my foe,
I scorn to strike, but when he wards the blow.
Look to thy hits, and leave off thy conniving,
I'll be no drudge to any wittal living;
I have been patient, and forborne thee long,
In hope thou wouldst not pocket up thy wrong:
If no affront can rouse thee, understand
I'll take no more indulgence at thy hand.
What, ne'er to be forbid thy house, and wife!
Damn him who loves to lead so ill a life.
Now I can neither sigh, nor whine, nor pray,
All those occasions thou hast ta’en away.
Why art thou so incorrigibly civil?
Do somewhat I may wish thee at the devil.
For shame be no accomplice in my treason,
A pimping husband is too much in reason.
Once more wear horns, before I quite forsake her, In hopes whereof, I rest thy cuckold-maker.
TRANSLATIONS FROM JUVENAL.
THE FIRST SATIRE OF JUVENAL.
The poet gives us first a kind of humorous reason for his writing That being provoked by hearing so many ill poets rehearse their works, he does himself justice on them, by giving them as bad as they bring. But since no man will rank himself with ill writers, 'tis easy to conclude, that if such wretches could draw an audience, he thought it no hard matter to excel them, and gain a greater esteem with the public. Next he informs us more openly, why he rather addicts himself to Satire, than any other kind of poetry. And here he discovers that it is not so much his indignation to ill poets, as to ill men, which has prompted him to write. He therefore gives us a summary and general view of the vices and follies reigning in his time. So that this first satire is the natural ground-work of all the rest. Herein he confines himself to no one subject, but strikes indifferently at all men in his way: in every following satire he has chosen some particular moral which he would inculcate; and lashes some particular vice or folly, (an art with which our lampooners are not much acquainted.) But our poet being desirous to reform his own age, and not daring to attempt it by an overt act of naming living persons, inveighs only against those who were infamous in the times immediately preceding his, whereby he not only gives a fair warning to great men, that their memory lies at the mercy of future poets and historians, but also with a finer stroke of his pen, brands even the living, and personates them under dead men's names.
I have avoided as much as I could possibly the borrowed learning of marginal notes and illustrations, and for that
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