That to out-doe him paint themselves? For tho' the Birds his painted Grapes did crave, These paint and all Mankind deceive. This sure must spend a World of Morning, More than the Ladies quick adorning; They have found out a shorter way, Not as before, to wast the day; They only comb, wash hands and face, And streightway, with a comely Grace, On the admired _Helmet_ goes, As ready rigg'd as their lac'd Shoes. Far much more time Men trifling wast, E'er their soft Bodies can be drest; The Looking-Glass hangs just before, And each o'th' Legs requires an hour: Now thereby, Ladies, hangs a Tale, A Story for your Cakes and Ale. A certain _Beau_ was lately dressing, But sure, e'er he had crav'd Heavens Blessing; When in comes Friend, and finds him laid In mournfull plight, upon his Bed. Dear _Tom_, quoth he, such a Mischance As ne'er befell the Foes of _France_; Nay, I must tell thee, _Fleury_ Battel Was ne'er to _Europe_ half so fatal; For by I know not what ill luck, My Glass this Morn fell down and broke Upon my Shin, just in my Rolling; Now is not this worth thy condoling? See Stocking cut, and bloody Shin, Besides the Charge of healing Skin. 'Twas the only Kindness of my Fate, It mist the solid Piece, my Pate. Ladies, this was ill luck, but you Have much the worser of the two; The World is chang'd I know not how, For Men kiss Men, not Women now; And your neglected Lips in vain, Of smugling _Jack_, and _Tom_ complain: A most unmanly nasty Trick; One Man to lick the other's Cheek; And only what renews the shame Of _J._ the first, and _Buckingham_: He, true it is, his Wives Embraces fled To slabber his lov'd _Ganimede_; But to employ, those Lips were made For Women in _Gomorrha_'s Trade; Bespeaks the Reason ill design'd, Of railing thus 'gainst Woman-kind: For who that loves as Nature teaches, That had not rather kiss the Breeches Of Twenty Women, than to lick The Bristles of one Male dear _Dick_? Now wait on _Beau_ to his _Alsatia_, A Place that loves no _Dei Gratia_; Where the Undoers live, and Undone, In _London_, separate from _London_; Where go but Three Yards from the street, And you with a new Language meet: _Prig_, _Prigster_, _Bubble_, _Caravan_, _Pure Tackle_, _Buttock_, _Purest pure_. _Sealers_, _Putts_, _Equipp_, and _Bolter_; _Lug out_, _Scamper_, _rub_ and _scowre_. _Ready_, _Rhino_, _Coal_, and _Darby_, _Meggs_, and _Smelts_, and _Hoggs_, and _Decus_; _Tathers_, _Fambles_, _Tatts_ and _Doctors_, _Bowsy_, _Smoaky_, _Progg_, and _Cleare_, _Bolter_, _Banter_, _Cut a shamm_; With more a great deal of the same. Should _Saffold_ make but half this Rattle, When Maidens visit his O-racle, They'd take him for some Son of _Cham_, Calling up Legion by his Name, Add but to this the Flanty-Tant Of Fopling Al-a-mode Gallant; Why should not _Gris_, or _Jardine_,