_Know, Sir, that I was really bred and born To lash the Vices of the Age; and sworn To lampoon ~Beaux~, and ~Jilts~; and to condemn What ~Pulpits~, nor the ~Stage~ dare not contemn: So Anger, ~Frank~, can no Redress afford, For to defend my Pen, see here’s my Sword._
Now think I with myself, if this be the Way of _London_, Drinking, Gaming, and Whoring; I’ll e’en retire into the Country, where I thought was more Simplicity and Honesty among the Rusticks than the Citizens; but I found myself mistaken, for going to _Deptford_, I perceiv’d as much Drunkenness among the _Tarpaulins_, as among the Admirers of _Geneva_, at the _Frenchman_’s Bob-Shop, or _dirty-Face Dick_ in the _Strand_; but however, the _Tarpaulin_’s Froes of this Place, as well as at _Wapping, are pretty virtuous, thro’ their Husband_’s _making them go without Smocks, to prevent their Neighbours from taking up their Wives Linnen_. From hence, I went to _Greenwich-Park_, where I found as many Assignations made betwixt Whore and Cully, as in _St. James_’s, or _Hyde-Park_. Here was as much Lying by the Fops in Praise of their Mistresses, as is among Lawyers; as much Flattering, as there is at Court; and as much Dissembling, as in a _Presbyterian_ or _Anabaptist_ Meeting-House; a Folly, which I must own, I have been formerly guilty of myself, when I sent to a young Gentlewoman this amorous Petition, for Flattery is the only Bait to decoy the coyest Virgin in _England_.
_Harmonious Numbers now my Muse does find, To sing the choicest of your precious Kind. Thy Wit, as well as Beauty, lovely Dame, Who first my Breast, and more than Wealth, or Fame, Exerts my Soul, and is my constant Aim. The genuine Blushes that your Cheeks adorn, Were ravish’d from the Rose, or crimson Morn; The ~Persian~ Insects labr’ing, wrought with Care The slender silken Threads that form your Hair; The clear, quick Lustre of your piercing Eyes, Was shot from Di’monds, or the spangled Skies; Vermilion ~Coral~ left its ozie Bed, To flush your balmy Lips with glowing Red; To frame your Teeth, choice Pearls did crowding come, Each from its secret Cell in ~Ocean’s~ Womb: ~Arabian~ Sweets did all their Stores transfer, And fed from Home, to breath in you, bright Star. ~Eden~ once flourish’d like your blooming Face, Your Shape, your Mein, and unaffected Grace, From Heav’n the first of Females once possess’d, Created as a Pattern to the rest: From Spring your Gaiety, from calmest Brooks Was wafted the Sereneness of your Looks; Sweet ~Philomel~, as she departing, sung, Bequeath’d the Musick of your silver Tongue; The Down of Swans, and Lillies, or the gay And fragrant Bloom that crowns the youthful May, To frame your Skin, did gracefully unite Their yielding Softness, and unblemish’d White: The vast Cerulean Sky, Earth, Sea, and Air, Did then combin’d, and various Stores prepare (At Heaven’s commanding Call) to frame you fair. They fram’d you of their rarest Treasures joyn’d, And in the Mould an Angel’s Soul unshrin’d Therefore, fair Virgin, whose most dazling Charms Can Saints and Anchorites bring to your Arms, Let us this Day, for it’s a Law divine, Offer our mutual Hearts on Cupid’s Shrine; Revel, whilst living, in the Joys of Love, Like thund’ring Jove, and other Gods above; For if we slight bright ~Venus~ while we’ve Breath, There’ll be no Thoughts of loving after Death._