Where lords are baffled, servants oft prevail. Some vices they propose to all agree; H---- was guilty, but was M---- free? Give him no tutor--throw him to a punk, Rather than trust his morals to a monk-- 640 Monks we all know--we, who have lived at home, From fair report, and travellers, who roam, More feelingly;--nor trust him to the gown, 'Tis oft a covering in this vile town For base designs: ourselves have lived to see More than one parson in the pillory. Should he have brothers, (image to thy view A scene, which, though not public made, is true) Let not one brother be to t' other known, Nor let his father sit with him alone. 650 Be all his servants female, young and fair; And if the pride of Nature spur thy heir To deeds of venery, if, hot and wild, He chance to get some score of maids with child, Chide, but forgive him; whoredom is a crime Which, more at this than any other time, Calls for indulgence, and,'mongst such a race, To have a bastard is some sign of grace. Born in such times, should I sit tamely down, Suppress my rage, and saunter through the town 660 As one who knew not, or who shared these crimes? Should I at lesser evils point my rhymes, And let this giant sin, in the full eye Of observation, pass unwounded by? Though our meek wives, passive obedience taught, Patiently bear those wrongs, for which they ought, With the brave spirit of their dams possess'd, To plant a dagger in each husband's breast, To cut off male increase from this fair isle, And turn our Thames into another Nile; 670 Though, on his Sunday, the smug pulpiteer, Loud 'gainst all other crimes, is silent here, And thinks himself absolved, in the pretence Of decency, which, meant for the defence Of real virtue, and to raise her price, Becomes an agent for the cause of vice; Though the law sleeps, and through the care they take To drug her well, may never more awake; Born in such times, nor with that patience cursed Which saints may boast of, I must speak or burst. 680 But if, too eager in my bold career, Haply I wound the nice, and chaster ear; If, all unguarded, all too rude, I speak, And call up blushes in the maiden's cheek, Forgive, ye fair--my real motives view, And to forgiveness add your praises too. For you I write--nor wish a better plan, The cause of woman is most worthy man-- For you I still will write, nor hold my hand Whilst there's one slave of Sodom in the land, 690 Let them fly far, and skulk from place to place, Not daring to meet manhood face to face, Their steps I'll track, nor yield them one retreat Where they may hide their heads, or rest their feet, Till God, in wrath, shall let his vengeance fall, And make a great example of them all, Bidding in one grand pile this town expire, Her towers in dust, her Thames a lake of fire; Or they (most worth our wish) convinced, though late,