They try, and smear the naked limbs with oil; Against the post their wicker shields they crush, Flourish the sword, and at the flastron push. Of every exercise the mannish crew Fulfils the parts, and oft excels us too; Prepared not only in feigned fights to engage, But rout the gladiators on the stage. What sense of shame in such a breast can lie, Inured to arms, and her own sex to fly? Yet to be wholly man she would disclaim; } To quit her tenfold pleasure at the game, } For frothy praises and an empty name. } Oh what a decent sight 'tis to behold All thy wife's magazine by auction sold! The belt, the crested plume, the several suits Of armour, and the Spanish leather boots! Yet these are they, that cannot bear the heat Of figured silks, and under sarcenet sweat. Behold the strutting Amazonian whore, She stands in guard with her right foot before; Her coats tucked up, and all her motions just, She stamps, and then cries,--Hah! at every thrust; But laugh to see her, tired with many a bout, Call for the pot, and like a man piss out. The ghosts of ancient Romans, should they rise, Would grin to see their daughters play a prize. Besides, what endless brawls by wives are bred? The curtain-lecture makes a mournful bed. Then, when she has thee sure within the sheets, Her cry begins, and the whole day repeats. Conscious of crimes herself, she teazes first; Thy servants are accused; thy whore is curst; She acts the jealous, and at will she cries; For womens' tears are but the sweat of eyes. Poor cuckold fool! thou think'st that love sincere, And sucks between her lips the falling tear; But search her cabinet, and thou shalt find Each tiller there with love-epistles lined. Suppose her taken in a close embrace, } This you would think so manifest a case, } No rhetoric could defend, no impudence outface; } And yet even then she cries,--The marriage-vow A mental reservation must allow; And there's a silent bargain still implied, } The parties should be pleased on either side, } And both may for their private needs provide. } Though men yourselves, and women us you call, Yet _homo_ is a common name for all.-- There's nothing bolder than a woman caught; Guilt gives them courage to maintain their fault. You ask, from whence proceed these monstrous crimes? Once poor, and therefore chaste, in former times Our matrons were; no luxury found room, In low-roofed houses, and bare walls of loam; Their hands with labour hardened while 'twas light, And frugal sleep supplied the quiet night;