Out of Civility to the Man, I will begin first with our own Sex. I am ashamed, and blush to speak it, how many lewd Creatures there are of our Sex both in the Town and Country; were there not so many Whores, there would be more Wives. The vicious Sort of Men are by them kept from marrying; for it is mere Virtue must confine a Man to a married State, where he has an uninterrupted Converse with Womankind as seldom and as often as he pleases, without Confinement to any particular Person or Temper. This made a Nobleman say, that _Two Things could never be wanted in_ London, _a Wife and a Watch; because one may have a Whore, and see what it is a Clock, at the End of every Street_. The numerous Company of Strumpets and Harlots, in _London_, makes the lewd Sort of Men out of Love with Matrimony. Nay, I have heard them say, _There is no Woman honest after the Age of Fifteen_. I know they are Lyars; but, I am sorry to say it, they have too much Reason to be out of Love with our Sex. Sometimes I myself am almost of their Opinion, especially when I consider how shamefully some lewd Women prostitute themselves to every rascally Porter and Boy: And I think it more abominable in the Women than the Men, for Nature has given us more Modesty; and, did not the Whores ply in the Streets, the Leacher could never stumble over them. The Men, they are grown full as effeminate as the Women; we are rivalled by them even in the Fooleries peculiar to our Sex: They dress like Anticks and Stage-Players, and are as ridiculous as Monkies: They sit in monstrous long Perukies, like so many Owls in Ivy-Bushes; and esteem themselves more upon the Reputation of being a Beau, than on the substantial Qualifications of Honour, Courage, Learning, and Judgment. If you heard them talk, you would think yourself at a Gossipping at _Dover_, or that you heard the learned Confabulation of the Boys in the Piazza's of _Christ's-Hospital_. Did you ever see a Creature more ridiculous than that Stake of Humane Nature which dined the other Day at our House, with his great long Wig to cover his Head and Face, which was no bigger than an _Hackney-Turnep_, and much of the same Form and Shape? Bless me how it looked! just like a great Platter of _French_ Soup with a little Bit of Flesh in the Middle. Did you mark the beau Tiff of his Wig, what a deal of Pains he took to toss it back, when the very Weight thereof was like to draw him from his Seat? Did you not take Notice how he replenished his Snout with Snuff, and what Pains he took to let us know that it was _Vigo_? Did you not wonder at his learned Discourse of the Womens Accoutrements, from the Top-knot to the Laced Shoe; and what Lectures he read on the Fan, Masque, and Gloves? He understood Ribbons and Silk as well as a Milliner and Mercer, and was a perfect Chymist in Beauty Washes and Essences: In short, Madam, did you ever see a more accomplished Coxcomb in all your Life?