Answer to the STANZAS Addressed to the Ladies (see this Paper of the 23rd past).
Upon my word you’re mighty pert,
With your poetic chaff;
You think our Dresses to invert,
Yet only make us laugh.
What rail at Woman! fine indeed!
The Creature oft you sigh for;
You talk of Darts and Heart that Bleed,
And Angels you could die for.
But hold the Scale’s entirely turned,
They Stink (ah! nasty Creature)
This once Adored, must now be scorned
As odd, and out of Nature.
But can we wonder such a Thought,
Should in his Bosom harbour?
For sure, the Man that talks so hot
Can never want a Barber.
A Barber! vulgar phrase indeed;
Can Barbers form the Tye,
Or teach the rising Curls to spread,
So elegantly high?
These rising curls (exult ye Fair)
For I shall tell you truly,
Was once a Country Maiden’s hair,
There bought and paid for duly.
Then worn by Man. No more [illegible]
Woman was made the weaker Mind,
’Tis Man should lead the way to Glory,
Yet he Mistakes the Road we find.
And now, to be a Doctor pleases,
And explore our gay Disorders,
Physician heal thy own Diseases,
After we’ll Obey your Orders.