The Reasons that Induced Dr S to write a Poem call'd the Lady's Dressing room

The Doctor in a clean starch'd band,His Golden Snuff box in his hand,With care his Di'mond Ring displaysAnd Artfull shews its various Rays,While Grave he stalks down -- -- Street 5His dearest Betty -- to meet.Long had he waited for this Hour,Nor gain'd Admittance to the Bower,Had jok'd and punn'd, and swore and writ,Try'd all his Galantry and Wit, 10Had told her oft what part he boreIn Oxford's Schemes in days of yore,But Bawdy, Politicks nor SatyrCould move this dull hard hearted Creature.Jenny her Maid could taste a Rhyme 15And greiv'd to see him lose his Time,Had kindly whisper'd in his Ear,For twice two pound you enter here,My lady vows without that SummIt is in vain you write or come. 20The Destin'd Offering now he broughtAnd in a paradise of thoughtWith a low Bow approach'd the DameWho smileing heard him preach his Flame.His Gold she takes (such proofes as these 25Convince most unbeleiving shees)And in her trunk rose up to lock it(Too wise to trust it in her pocket)And then return'd with Blushing GraceExpects the Doctor's warm Embrace. 30But now this is the proper placeWhere morals Stare me in the FaceAnd for the sake of fine ExpressionI'm forc'd to make a small digression.Alas for wretched Humankind, 35With Learning Mad, with wisdom blink!The Ox thinks he's for Saddle fit(As long ago Freind Horace writ)And Men their Talents still mistakeing,The stutterer fancys his is speaking. 40With Admiration oft we seeHard Features heighten'd by Toupée,The Beau affects the Politician,Wit is the citizen's Ambition,Poor Pope Philosophy displays on 45With so much Rhime and little reason,And thô he argues ne'er so longThat, all is right, his Head is wrong.None strive to know their proper meritBut strain for Wisdom, Beauty, Spirit, 50And lose the Praise that is their dueWhile they've th'impossible in view.So have I seen the Injudicious HeirTo add one Window the whole House impair.Instinct the Hound does better teach 55Who never undertook to preach,The frighted Hare from Dogs does runBut not attempts to bear a Gun.Here many Noble thoughts occurBut I prolixity abhor, 60And will persue th'instructive TaleTo shew the Wise in some things fail.The Reverend Lover with surprizePeeps in her Bubbys, and her Eyes,And kisses both, and trys--and trys. 65The Evening in this Hellish Play,Beside his Guineas thrown away,Provok'd the Preist to that degreehe swore, the Fault is not in me.Your damn'd Close stool so near my Nose, 70Your Dirty Smock, and Stinking ToesWould make a Hercules as tameAs any Beau that you can name.The nymph grown Furious roar'd by GodThe blame lyes all in Sixty odd 75And scornfull pointing to the doorCry'd, Fumbler see my Face no more.With all my Heart I'll go awayBut nothing done, I'll nothing pay.Give back the Money--How, cry'd she, 80[I lock'd it in the Trunk stands thereAnd break it open if you dare.]Would you palm such a cheat on me!For poor 4 pound to roar and bellow,Why sure you want some new Prunella? 85[What if your Verses have not sold,Must therefore I return your Gold?Perhaps your have no better Luck inThe Knack of Rhyming than of --I won't give back one single Crown, 90To wash your Band, or turn your Gown.]I'll be reveng'd you saucy Quean(Replys the disapointed Dean)I'll so describe your dressing roomThe very Irish shall not come. 95She answer'd short, I'm glad you'l write,You'l furnish paper when I shite.