_Forg._ But now, Sir, to my Business. Having been inform'd this Morning, That the King has appointed a great Sum of Money for the Marriage of young Women who have liv'd well, and are fallen to decay, I am come to acquaint you I have two strapping Daughters, just fit for the Matter, and to desire you'll help 'em to Portions out of the King's Bounty; that they mayn't whine and pine, and be eaten up with the Green-sickness, as half the young Women in the Town are, or wou'd be, if there were not more Helps for the Disease than one. This, Sir, is my Business. _Esop._ And this, Madam, is my Answer: _A crawling Toad, all speckled o'er, Vain, gaudy, painted, patch'd----a Whore, Seeing a well-fed Ox hard by, Regards him with an envious Eye, And (as the Poets tell) Ye Gods, I cannot bear't, quoth she, I'll burst, or be as big as he, And so began to swell. Her Friends and Kindred round her came, They shew'd her she was much to blame, The Thing was out of reach. She told 'em they were busy Folk, And when her Husband wou'd have spoke, She bid him kiss her Br----. With that they all e'en gave her o'er, And she persisted as before, Till with a deal of Strife She swell'd at last so much her Spleen, She burst like one that we have seen, Who was a Scrivener's Wife._ This, Widow, I take to be your Case, and that of a great many others; for this is an Age where most People get Falls, by clambering too high, to reach at what they should not do. The Shoemaker's Wife reduces her Husband to a Cobler, by endeavouring to be as spruce as the Taylor's: The Taylor's brings hers to a Botcher, by going as fine as the Mercer's: The Mercer's lowers hers to a Foreman, by perking up to the Merchant's: The Merchant's wears hers to a Broker, by strutting up to Quality: And Quality bring theirs to nothing, by striving to out-do one another. If Women were humbler, Men wou'd be honester. Pride brings Want, Want makes Rogues, Rogues come to be hang'd, and the Devil alone's the Gainer. Go your ways home, Woman; and as your Husband maintain'd you by his Pen, maintain yourself by your Needle; put your great Girls to service, Imployment will keep them honest; much Work and plain Diet will cure the Green-Sickness as well as a Husband---- _Forg._ Why, you pityful Pigmy; preaching, canting, Pickthank; you little, sorry, crooked, dry, wither'd Eunuch, do you know that---- _Esop._ I know that I'm so deform'd you han't Wit enough to describe me: But I have this good Quality, That a foolish Woman can never make me angry. _Forg._ Can't she so? I'll try that, I will. [_She falls upon him, holds his Hands, and boxes his Ears._ _Esop._ Help, help, help. _Enter Servants. She runs off, they after her._