THE LADIES DELIGHT.


CONTAINING,

I. An Address to all _well provided_ HIBERNIANS;

II. The ARBOR VITAE; or, Tree of Life. A Poem. Shewing whence it took
it's _Root_, and has spread its _Leaves_ over all Christendom; being
extremely useful to _Students_ in all _Branches_ of polite Literature.

III. The Natural History of the ARBOR VITAE; or, The Tree of Life, in
Prose; printed from the Original Manuscript.

IV. RIDOTTO al' FRESCO. A Poem. Describing the Growth of this Tree in
the famous _Spring Gardens_ at _Vaux-Hall_, under the Care of that
ingenious _Botanist_ Doctor H----GG----R.

       *       *       *       *       *

_RES est severa Voluptas_.

       *       *       *       *       *

_LONDON_:

Printed for _W. James_ in the _Strand_, 1732

[Price Six-pence.]

       *       *       *       *       *




AN ADDRESS TO ALL _Well provided_ HIBERNIANS.


_Gentlemen_,

As Nature hath been so _very Indulgent_ to ye, as to stock your Gardens
with _Trees_ of the _largest Growth_, for which Reason ye are caress'd,
whilst Men of _less Parts_, tho' in _some Things_ more deserving, are
laugh'd at, and excluded all Company.

As all Infants, especially of the Female Sex, are much delighted with
Fruit, so as their Years and other Appetites increase, no Wonder if that
increases too. Both Men and Beasts have _some-thing_ or another, for
which they are esteem'd; so ye being in a particular manner Happy in
this _Talent_, may securely laugh, while ye daily _grow_ in the Ladies
Favour, and spread your _Branches_ over all the Kingdom: Many a hopeful
_Stick of Wood_ has been produc'd by this glorious Tree, who after they
had _piss'd_ their Estates against the Wall (as the good Housewives term
it) have by the Strength of true _Hibernian_ Prowess rais'd themselves
to the Favour of some fair Virtuoso, and being by her _plac'd in a
HOT-BED_, have been restor'd to their pristine Strength, and flourish'd
again; and like true Heroes, not envying the busy World, have been
content to _spend_ the remainder of their Days in an obscure Nook of the
World.

Thus, Gentlemen, and as all Poets chuse the most Worthy to patronize
their Works, I humbly offer ye the following Poem, and that you may
still continue as ye now are; that your Trees may ever flourish, your
_Green-houses_ be secure, nor your _young Plants_ be ever nipt in the
_Bud_, and that you may ever _stand_ against all _Cracks_, Storms,
Tempests, and _Eruptions_,

_Is the hearty Wishes of Your's_,

BOTANICUS.




THE Natural HISTORY OF THE TREE of LIFE.


  The Tree of which I fain would sing,
  If the kind Muse her Aid would bring,
  Is _Arbor Vitae_; but in brief,
  By vulgar Men call'd--_Tree of Life_.

  First for Description then, 'tis such
  As needs must captivate you much.
  In Stem most streight, of lovely Size,
  With Head elate this Plant doth rise;
  First bare--when it doth further shoot,
  _A Tuft of Moss_ keeps warm the Root:
  No _Lapland_ Muff has such a Fur,
  No Skin so soft has any Cur;
  This touch'd, alone the Heart can move,
  Which Ladies more than Lap-dogs love;
  From this erect springs up the Stalk,
  No Power can stop, or ought can baulk;
  On Top an _Apex_ crowns the Tree,
  As all Mankind may plainly see;
  So shines a Filbeard, when the Shell,
  Half gone, displays the _ruby Peel_
  Or like a Cherry bright and gay,
  Just red'ning in the Month of _May_.

  As other Trees bear Fruit at Top,
  And they who rob 'em must _climb up_;
  This still more rare doth upward shoot,
  But at the Bottom bears its Fruit,
  And they who'd reap its Virtues strong,
  Need but to lay 'em _all along_,
  _Ope' wide, their Mouths_, and they'll receive
  The _Fruit of Life_, and eat, and live:
  Not the fair Tree that _India_ bears,
  All over Spice both Head and Ears,
  Can boast more Gifts than the Great Pow'rs
  Have granted to this Tree of ours:
  That in good Ale its Power boasts,
  And ours has _Nutmeg's_ fit for _Toasts_
  And Bags by _Nature_ planted grow,
  To keep 'em from all Winds that blow.

  The Rise is slow, and by Degrees,
  Both Fruits and Tree itself increase
  So slow, that ten Years scarce produce
  _Six Inches_ good and fit for Use;
  But fifteen ripen well the Fruit,
  And add a _viscous Balm_ into't;
  Then rub'd, drops Tears as if 'twas greiv'd,
  Which by a neighbouring Shrub's receiv'd;
  As Men set Tubs to catch the Rain,
  So does this Shrub _its Juice_ retain,
  Which 'cause it wears a colour'd Robe,
  Is justly call'd the _flow'ring Shrub_.

  In every Nation springs this Tree,
  In some confin'd; in others more free;
  In _England_, 'tis of mod'rate Size,
  And oft' does _nine full inches_ rise:
  But _Ireland_, tho' in Soil most poor,
  Exceeds all Lands in this fame Store;
  And sent o'er hither, it is such
  As does exceed our own by much,
  And gets the Owner many a _Farthing_,
  For _Ladies_ love it in their _Garden_.

  That it's a _Tree_ right _sensitive_,
  Denies no honest Man alive:
  Tho' as one _shrinks_ and will not stand,
  This _rises_ at a _Lady's_ Hand,
  And grows more strong the more 'tis strok'd,
  As others _fall_ when they are _pok'd_.

  When nipping Cold bites off our Nose,
  And hoary Frosts the Morn disclose,
  In _Hot-beds_ only then 'twill live,
  And only when-well warm'd will thrive;
  But when warm Summer does appear,
  'Twill _stand_ all _brunts_ in open Air;
  Tho' oft they're overcome with Heat,
  And sink with Nurture too replete;
  Then _Birchen Twigs_, if right apply'd
  To Back, Fore-part, or either Side----
  Support a while, _and keep it up_,
  Tho' soon again the Plant will droop.

  _Motteux_ had one very untow'rd,
  And thought to mend it with a Cord,
  But _kill'd the Tree_, yet gain'd his _End_,
  Which makes th' Experiment condemn'd.

  Others have thought to mend the Root,
  By taking from the Tree its Fruit;
  But in the _Nutmegs_ lies the Breed,
  And when they're gone we lose the _Seed_;
  Tho' Virtuosi still have don't,
  And always found it yield Accompt;
  For _Hey----gg----r_ then buys the _Wood_,
  And of it makes us Whistles good,
  Which yearly from _Italia_ sent,
  Here answers his and our Intent.

  Others too curious will _innoc_
  _Ulate_ their Plants on _Medlars_ Stock,
  (_i.e._ as Tongues in Vulgar pass,
  They graft it on an _Open-arse_;)
  But Gardeners, Virtuosi, all,
  Say this is most _unnatural_.

  That Soil is certainly the best,
  Whence first it sprang, and first increast,
  In Vallies hollow, soft, and warm,
  With Hills to ward off every Storm,
  Where Water salt runs trickling down,
  And _Tendrils_ lie o'er all the Ground,
  Such as the Tree itself shoots forth,
  And better if't be tow'rds the _North_;
  When such a Piece of Ground you see,
  If in the midst a Pit there be,
  There plant it deep unto the _Root_,
  And never fear----you'll soon have _Fruit_.

  Tho' let young _Botanists_ beware
  Of Insects that oft' harbour there,
  Which 'mongst the tender _Fibres_ breed,
  And if not kill'd, eat up the _Seed_:
  Good _Humphrey Bowen_ gives another,
  (As each Man should assist his Brother)
  That is, to take especial Care
  Not to set _Vulvaria_ near;
  Of them two Sorts are frequent found,
  One helps, and to'ther spoils the Ground;
  And many a Plant thriving and tall,
  Destroy'd by them, has got a Fall.

  But _Misan_'s taken this just napping,
  And _against all Things that can happen_
  Both to the Shrub and Tree, has told some
  How to make the deadliest _Wholesome_;
  These venomous _Vulvaria_ grow
  At _Vaux-Hall_ and _St. James's_ too;
  Nay, and about the Tree so leap,
  That very few good Plants can 'scape.


_The Names and Virtues_


  Old Mother _D'Acier_, in her Notes
  _On Homer_, some hard _Greek_ Word quotes,
  Calls it _Nep, nep_,--I know not what,
  And says it is the very Plant that
  The tawny Queen to _Helen_ sent,
  To cure her Griefs at all Event.

  Great _Milton's Murd'rer_ says it is
  The fam'd _Machaera Herculis_,
  And proves from some old _Grecian_ Poet,
  So plain that all Men sure must know it,
  That of this _Tree_ the Club was made,
  With which he overcame ('tis said)
  _Thespius_' Daughters, all grown wild,
  And _fifty Mad-Women_ made _mild_;
  Which very Club--(it makes one Laugh)
  _Omphale_ turn'd into a Distaff.
  Nay, the _Hesperian_ Tree was this,
  As shew the _Poma Veneris_;
  These Apples doubtless were the Fruit
  That 'twixt the Queens rais'd such Dispute,
  To make 'em all _stark-naked_ stand,
  While _Paris_ held it in his Hand,
  And _chuck'd_ it into _Venus_' Mouth,
  'Cause she with Beauty fir'd the Youth.

  The Virtues are of such great Note,
  That twenty Volumes might be wrote;
  The Juice alone Green-Sickness cures,
  And purges thro' all corporal Pores;
  If any Maid be sick, or faint
  Of Love, or Father's close Constraint,
  One Spoonfull of this Cordial Balm
  Soon stops each Grief, and every Qualm;
  'Tis true, they sometimes Tumours cause,
  And in the Belly make strange Flaws,
  But a few Moons will make 'em sound,
  And safely fetch the Swelling down.

  Not Saffron chears the Heart like this,
  Nor can Champaign give such a Bliss:
  When Wife and Husband do fall out,
  And both remain in sullen pout,
  This brings them to themselves again,
  And fast unites the broken Chain;
  Makes Feuds and Discords straightway cease
  And gives at least a _Night of Peace_.

  This Rarity may now be seen
  In _Lambeth_, at a Garden Green,
  _Bowen_ his Name, who in high Tone,
  Calls it the _Tree of Silver Spoon_,
  Which all the Maids of curious Eyes
  May there behold of _largest_ Size.





THE Natural HISTORY OF THE TREE of LIFE.

_The_ DESCRIPTION _and_ PLACE.


The _Tree of Life_ is a _succulent Plant_, consisting of one only strait
stem, on the top of which is a _Pistillum_ or _Apex_, at some times
_Glandiform_ and resembling a _May-Cherry_, tho' at others, more like
the _Nut_ of the _Avellana_ or _Filbeard-Tree_.

Its fruits, contrary to most others, grow near the Root; they are
usually no more than two in number, their bigness somewhat exceeding
that of an ordinary _Nutmeg_ both contained in one strong _Siliqua_, or
purse; which, together with the whole root of the plant, is commonly
thick set with numerous _Fibrilla_ or _capillary Tendrils_.

The tree is of slow growth, and requires time to bring it to perfection,
rarely seeding to any purpose before the fifteenth year; when the fruits
coming to good maturity, yield a viscous Juice or balmy _succus_, which
being from time to time discharged at the _Pistillum_ is mostly bestow'd
upon the open _Calyx's_ of the _Frutex Vulvaria_ or _flow'ring Shrub_
usually spreading under the shade of this tree, and whose parts are by a
wonderful mechanism adapted to receive it. The ingenious Mr. _Richard
Bradley_ is of opinion, the _Frutex_ is hereby impregnated, and then
first begins to bear; he therefore accounts this _Succus_ the _Farina
foecundans_ of the plant: and the learned _Leonhard Fucksius_, in his
_Historia Stirpium insigniorum_, observes the greatest sympathy between
this tree and shrub, _They are_, says he, _of the same genus, and do
best in the same bed, the_ Vulvaria _itself being indeed no other than
a_ female Arbor Vitae.

It is produced in most Countries, tho' it thrives more in some than
others, where it also increases to a larger size. The height here in
_England_ rarely passes nine, or at the most, eleven inches, and that
chiefly in _Kent_, whereas in _Ireland_, it comes to far greater
dimensions, is so good, that many of the natives entirely subsist upon
it, and when transplanted, have been sometimes known to raise good
houses with single plants of this sort.

As the _Irish_ soil is accounted the best, others are as remarkably bad
for its cultivation; and the least and worst in the world are said to be
about _Harborough_ and the _Forest of Sherard_.

The stem seems to be of the _sensitive_ tribe, tho' herein differing
from the more common _Sensitives_; that whereas they are known to shrink
and retire from even the gentlest touch of a Lady's hand, this rises on
the contrary, and extends itself when it is so handled.

In winter it is not easy to raise these trees without a hot bed; but in
warmer weather they stand well in the open air.

In the latter season they are subject to become weak and flaccid,
and want support; for which purpose some gardeners have thought of
splintering them up with _birchen Twigs_, which has seem'd of some
service for the present, tho' the plants have very soon come to the
same or a more drooping state than before.

The late ingenious Mr. _Motteux_ thought of restoring a fine plant he
had in this condition, by tying it up with a _Tomex_ or cord made of the
bark of the _Vitex_, or _Hempen-Tree_: but whether he made the ligature
too straight, or that the nature of the _Vitex_ is really in itself
pernicious, he quite kill'd his plant thereby; which makes this
universally condemn'd, as a dangerous experiment.

Some _Virtuosi_ have thought of improving their trees for some purposes,
by taking off the _Nutmegs_, which is however a bad way; they never
_seed_ after, and are good for little more than making whistles of,
which are imported every year from _Italy_, and sell indeed at a good
price.

Some other curious Gentlemen have endeavour'd to inoculate their plants
on the stock of the _Medlar_ and that with a manure of _human Ordure_,
but this has never been approv'd; and I have known some tree brought to
a _very ill end_ by such management.

The natural soil is certainly the best for their propagation; and that
is in hollow places, that are warm and near salt water, best known by
their producing the same sort of _Tendrils_ as are observ'd about the
roots of the _Arbor_ itself. Some cautions however are very necessary,
especially to young _Botanists_; and first, to be very diligent in
keeping their trees clean and neat; a pernicious sort of insect, not,
unlike a _Morpione_ or _Cimex_, being very subject to breed amongst the
_Fibrillae_, which, if not taken heed of, and timely destroy'd, proves
often of very dangerous consequence.

Another caution, no less useful, we have from that excellent and
judicious Botanist Mr. _Humphrey Bowen_, to beware of a poisonous
species of _Vulvaria_, too often mistaken for the wholesome one, and
which, if suffer'd too near our trees, will very greatly endanger their
well-being. He tells us, in the 12th volume of his large abridgment of
_la Quintinye_, that before he had acquir'd his judgment and experience,
some of his plants have often been sufferers through this mistake; and
he has seen a tall thriving tree, by the contact: only of this venomous
shrub, become _porrose, scabiose_, and cover'd with _fungous
Excrescences_ not unlike the fruits of the _Ficus sylvestris_ in which
case the _succus_ also has lost both its colour and vertue; and the tree
itself has so much partaken of the nature of the venomous shrub that had
hurt it, that itself has become venomous, and spread the poison through
a whole Plantation.

These distempers of a tree of the greatest use and value, have employ'd
the labours of the most eminent Botanists and Gardeners, to seek out
remedies for them: In which, however, none have succeeded like the
celebrated _Dr. Misaubin_ who from his profound knowledge in Botany has
composed a most elaborate work upon _all the things that can happen_,
both to the _Arbor Vitae_ and _Vulvaria also_: There he has taught a
certain cure for all these evils; and, what is most wonderful, has even
found out a way of making the most venomous _Vulvaria_ itself wholesome,
which he practises daily, to the satisfaction of all that apply to him.

These venomous _Vulvaria_ are but too common in most gardens about
_London_; there are many in St. _James's Park_, and more in the
celebrated gardens at _Vaux-hall_ over the water.


_The_ NAMES _and_ VIRTUES.

Besides the common name of _Arbor Vitae_, a very learned Philosopher
and great Divine would have it call'd, _Arbor Scientiae boni & mali_;
believing, upon very good grounds, this is the tree which grew in the
middle of the garden of _Eden_, and whose fruits were so alluring to
our first mother. Others would have it call'd the _Mandrake_ of _Leah_,
persuaded it is the same whose juice made the before barren _Rachel_
a joyful mother of children.

The learned _Madame D'Acier_ in her notes upon _Homer_ contends it
should be called _Nepenthes_. She gives many reasons why it certainly
is that very plant, whose fruits the _Egyptian_ queen recommended to
_Helen_, as a certain cure for pain and grief of all sorts, and which
She ever after kept by her as her most precious jewel, and made use of
as a _Panacaea_ upon all occasions.

The great Dr. _Bentley_ calls it more than once _Machaera Herculis_,
having proved out of the fragments of a _Greek_ Poet, that of this tree
was made that club with which the hero is said to have overcome the
fifty wild daughters of _Thespius_, but which Queen _Omphale_ afterwards
reduced to a distaff. Others have thought the celebrated _Hesperian_
trees were of this sort; and the very name of _Poma Veneris_, frequently
given by Authors to the fruits of this tree, is a sufficient proof these
were really the _Apples_ for which three Goddesses contended in so warm
a manner, and to which the Queen of beauty had undoubtedly the strongest
title.

The vertues are so many, a large volume might be wrote of them. The
juice taken inwardly cures the green-sickness and other infirmities of
the like sort, and is a true specific in most disorders of the fair sex.
It indeed often causes tumours in the umbilical region; but even those
being really of no ill consequence, disperse of themselves in a few
Months.

It chears the heart, and exhilarates the mind, quiets jars, feuds and
discontents, making the most churlish tempers surprizingly kind and
loving. Nor have private persons only been the better for this
reconciling vertue, but whole states and kingdoms, nay, the greatest
empires in the world have often received the benefit of it; the most
destructive wars have been ended, and the most friendly treaties been
produced, by a right application of this universal medicine among the
chief of the contending parties.

If any person is desirous to see this excellent and wonderful plant in
good perfection, he may meet with it at the aforementioned Mr _Bowen's_
garden at _Lambeth_, who calls it _The Silver-Spoon Tree_; and is at all
times ready to oblige his friends with the sight of it.




THE Ridotto al' Fresco, A POEM.


  What various Arts attempts the am'rous Swain,
  To force the Fair, or her Consent to gain--
  Now _Balls_, now _Masquerades_ his Care employ,
  And _Play_ and Park alternately give Joy--
  Industrious _H----gg----r_, whose magick Brains
  Still in their Shell the _Recipe_ retains
  Like some good Midwife brings the Plot to light
  And helps the lab'ring Swain to _Celia's_ Sight;
  For this his Eunuchs in high Buskins tread--
  And chaunt harmonious Lays for this,--and _Bread_;
  For this the _Assembly's_ fix'd; and the huge Dome
  Swells with the Lady's Vows, _when the Stake's gone_.--
  For this he forms the vicious Masquerade,
  Where Damsels may securely drive their Trade,
  For which the Salesman, Chandler, Chairmen loudly pray,
  And Pickpockets too, _hail_ the joyful Day--

  But now what Tongue can praise the mighty Worth,
  Who to _Ridotto_ gave an _English_ Birth;
  To him let every Templar bend the Knee,
  Receive a Ticket, and give up the Fee:
  Let _Drury-Lane_ eternal Columns raise,
  And every wanton Wife resound his Praise;
  Let Courtiers with implicit Faith obey,
  And to their grand Procurer Homage pay.

  No more shall _Duchesses_ to _Bath_ repair,
  Or fly to _Tunbridge_ to procure an Heir;
  _Spring-Gardens_ can supply their every Want,
  For here whate'er they ask the Swain wil grant,
  And future Lords (if they'll confess the right)
  Shall owe their Being to this blessed Night;
  Hence future Wickedness shall take its Rise,
  (For Masquerade to this is paultry Vice)
  An Aera of new Crimes shall hence begin,
  And _H----gg----r_ chief Devil be of Sin;
  No more shall Ugliness be his Disgrace,
  His Head mends all the Frailties of his Face;
  When Masques and Balls to their Conclusion drew,
  To this his last Resort the Hero flew;
  So by degrees the Errant Knights of old
  To Glory rose, and by Degrees grew bold;
  A while content the common Road they trod,
  'Till some great Act at last confess the _God_.

  Now Painters _work_,--and dine, that starv'd before,
  And Tallymen supply each needy Whore--
  Fam'd _Covent-Garden_ droops with mournful Look,
  Nor can St. _James's_ her great Rival brook:
  Each _Duck_ and D----ss, quacks to different Tunes,
  One _claps her Wings_ for Love, the other swoons;
  Each _Vintner_ storms and swears he is undone,
  Vollies of Oaths speak loud the Drawer's Moan;
  _Porter_ who us'd to search for needful Girls,
  Now sucks his Fingers, or his Apron twirls,
  Bemoans his Loss of Business, and with Sighs,
  In Box imprison'd lays the useless Dice.

  _Spring-Garden_ now alone does all invite
  The Cit, the Wit, the Rake, the Fool, the Knight:
  No Lady, that can pawn her Coat or Gown,
  Will rest 'till she has laid the Money down:
  Each Clerk will to the Joints his Fingers work,
  And Counsellors find out some modern Querk,
  To raise the Guinea, and to see the _Grot_,
  And 'mongst the _Belles_ to slant it at _Ridolt_.

  Here Seamstresses and Maids together vie,
  And the spruce 'Prentice shines in Sword and Tye:
  Bandy'd in Lace the City Dame appears,
  Her Hair genteelly frizzled round her Ears;
  Her Gown with _Tyrian_ Dyes most richly stain'd,
  Glitt'ring with Orient Pearl from Orphans gain'd.

  _My Lord_, to oblige his Spouse, takes Tickets three,
  Crys, one's for you my Love, and one for me,
  The third dispose as you shall best adjudge,
  Shew where you're pleas'd, and where you owe a Grudge:
  _Madam_ elate, thinks she'll be kind to _Betty_,
  To hide the Slips she made with Spark i'th' City:
  But _Stallion Tom_, who well knew how to scold,
  And by his Mistress's Favour grown too bold,
  Swears if _he_ has it not, he will reveal,
  And to his Master tell a dismal Tale;
  _Madam_, reluctant, gives him up the Paper;
  He at her Folly laughs, and cuts a Caper.

  _Sylvia_, a Lady, kept by twenty Beaux,
  Who never yet could brook the Marriage Noose,
  By each a Ticket offer'd, scorns 'em all,
  In hopes some Fool at last will Victim fall,
  And, kindly offer Treat and Ticket too,
  Which to her Charms she thinks most justly due;
  At last a brisk young _Templar_ full of Fire,
  Whom Writs with _Money_, Wine with Love inspire,
  Address'd the Dame, she yeilds his glowing Charms,
  And for a Ticket flies into his Arms:

  So every _dapper Fop_ and _brawny Rake_
  Will Tickets to their Ladies Presents make;
  To Sin, the only certain Dedication,
  To every gentle Mistress in the Nation,
  From Suburb Whore, to ranting Dame of Fashion;
  For none's so niece as to refuse the Suit,
  But grasps the Tree tho' 'tis _forbidden Fruit_.

  _Near_ where _the Thames_ in pleasant Windings runs,
  _Near_ where the famous Glass-house fiercely burns,
  (Which to the Love of poor desponding Swains,
  An Emblem terrible, but just retains.)
  _Near_ where fam'd _Vaux_ was to have fled,
  _With_ lighted Match, soon as he'd done the Deed;
  Whence some pretend to say by second Sight,
  That it foreshew'd the Fate attends this Night,
  'Cause here the Fair will many _Matches light_.

  _Spring-Gardens_ lie shaded with verdant Trees,
  That nod their reverend Heads at every Breeze;
  Embassadors like _Turks_ hence send Express,
  And _Ministers of State_ like Devils dress--

  Should some wild _Indian_ see the various Scene,
  He'd swear all Nations of the Earth do here convene,
  And take for quite reverse this medley Farce,
  Think Strumpers Saints, or catstick'd Beau a _Mars_.

  But now the Dancers nimble Feet go round,
  And with just Measures beat the passive Ground,
  Each one inclines to different Delights--
  Musick the Fair, Sweetmeats the Beau invite;
  The _Templar_ wisely does his Care enroll,
  Pockets the Pheasant, and eats up the Fowls
  Nor will return to join the giddy Rout,
  'Till he has eat and drank his _Guinea_ out.

  Now Dancing fires the Nymph to softer Joys;
  The Musick's dull, the Wine and Sweetmeat cloys;
  _Strephon_ streight takes the Hint, withdraws a-while,
  By soft Endearments does her Grief beguile;
  Soon they return more vig'rous than before,
  Do what they will, she cannot be a Whore.

  For _Mahomet_ may dream of heavenly Stews,
  Where Virgin Rose, soon as it's lost, renews,
  And shake with every Breath of Air serene,
  As trembling for the Rapes they've daily seen;
  When if those past can shake their Height profound,
  _Ridotto_ sure will fell them to the Ground;
  Here Art to Nature join'd makes it compleat,
  And Pyramids and Trees together meet;
  Statues amidst the thickest Grove arise,
  And lofty Columns tow'ring to the Skies;
  Then next an Obelisk its Shade displays,
  And rustic Rockwork fills each empty Space;
  Each joins to make it noble, and excells
  Beaufets for Food, Grotto's for something else.

  But hark! the Doors on jarring Hinges turn,
  All enter in, and the blest Scene's begun;
  A thousand Lights their livid Flames display,
  Pour forth their Blaze, and form a mimick Day:
  Sudden a motley Mixture fills the Place,
  And Footmen shine as lordly as his Grace;
  To see the sad Effect and Power of Change,
  Ladies turn'd Men, in Breeches freely range:
  Young smooth-chin'd Beaux turn Priests and Fryars,
  And Nun's chaste Habits hide our Country 'Squires.
  _Belles, Beaux_, and Sharpers here together play,
  And Wives throw their good Spouses Wealth away;
  And when their Cash runs low, and Fate runs cross,
  They then _Cornute_ 'em to retrieve their Loss.

  _Dice_ and Intrigue so mutually are blended,
  That one begins as soon as t'other's ended:
  A City Heiress blooming, rich, and fair,
  Picks up the Cards and Counters with great Care;
  Against her fate a smooth young Baron,
  Wit he had none, Beauty he had his share on,
  A soft clear Skin, a dapper Neck and Waist,
  In all Things suited to the modern Taste;
  And most polite, like all our modish Brood,
  That is, a very Fool, who's very leud:
  He ogles Miss, she squints, and turns aside,
  Nor can her Mask her rising Blushes hide;
  At last (as Bargains here are quickly made)
  She yeilds to be Caress'd, tho' still afraid;
  She cries, a private Room's for them most fit,
  For Reputation is the Glory of a Cit;
  This only is the Place, where in a Trice,
  Some Angel steals the Wounds of friendly Vice;
  The Nymph finds a Relief for all her Pains,
  And the lost Maidenhead's restor'd again.

  But who is he in Bower close confin'd,
  With a kind Fair t' unbend his troubled Mind,
  Sure by his Air, his Beauty, and his Grace,
  It _Phoebus_ is, or some of heavenly Race.

  A petty Courtier, of small Estate and Sense,
  Stood hearkning by, and cry'd it was the P----ce.

  Your Pardon, Sir, I knew it not before,
  For my Mistake depended on his Whore,
  One had _Latona_ to'ther has _L----r_.

  Next to the _Grotto_ let us bend our Eye,
  The _Grotto_, Patron of Iniquity,
  Speak O ye Trees with kind refreshing Shade,
  How many Whores have at your Roots been made;
  Alas; how small the Number to what now,
  This one, this happy Night, alone will shew
  So many, that each conscious _Dryad_ flees,
  Lest she too should be ravish'd thro' the Trees.

  Next rattling Dice invite th' attentive Ear,
  Lords loudly laugh, as loud the Bullies swear:
  The Country Knight o'th' Shire sells his Estate,
  And here with Heart intrepid meets his Fate;
  So they withdrew to quench their glowing Flame,
  And to preserve the Honour of her Name;
  For oh! sad Fate as they ascend the Stairs,
  At the Room Door her good _Mamma_ appears,
  Soon as she spies her Child with Looks demure,
  She charges her to keep her _Vessel pure_:
  Miss pertly answers to avoid her Doom,
  _Mamma_, whose Hat and Wig is in the Room?
  The good old Dame yeilds at the just Reproach,
  Cries--_Well my Dear, don't take too much!_

  Thus various Joys soon waste the fleeting Night,
  And Sleep and Lust the Croud to Bed invite;
  Some in their Truckle-Beds to snore all Day,
  Others in Gambols with their Wh----es to play;
  The Dunghill Trapes, trickt up like virtuous Trull,
  If by good Chance, she gets a _Dupe_ or Cull;
  On Tallyman intrudes twelve Hours more,
  And for a clean Shift presumes to run a Score.

  Sages may say, that Arts and Science fail,
  And Ignorance and Folly have weigh'd down the Scale:
  In _England_ they have given new Arts a Rise,
  And what in Science wants, increase in Vice,
  And to be great as Angels when they fell,
  (If not exceed) at _least_ they equal _Hell_.




_FINIS._











--- Provided by LoyalBooks.com ---