JOURNAL
OF A MODERN LADY.
In a LETTER to a PERSON of QUALITY. 1728.
T was a most unfriendly part
In you, who ought to know my heart,
Are well acquainted with my zeal
For all the female commonweal
How could it come into your mind
To pitch on me, of all mankind,
Against the fex to write a fatire,
And brand me for a woman-hater?
On me, who think them all fo fair,
They rival Venus to a hair;
Their virtues never ceas'd to fing,
Since first I learn'd to tune a string?
Methinks I hear the ladies cry,
Will he his character belye?
Muft never our misfortunes end?
And have we loft our only friend?
Ah, lovely nymphs, remove your fears,
No more let fall thofe precious tears.
Sooner fhall, &c.
[Here feveral verses are omitted.] The hound be hunted by the hare, Than I turn rebel to the fair.
'Twas you engag'd me first to write, Then gave the subject out of spite: F 4
The journal of a modern dame
Is by my promise what you claim.
My word is paft,, I must fubmit
And yet perhaps you may be bit.
I but tranfcribe; for not a line
Of all the fatire fhall be mine.
Compell'd by you to tag in rhymes
The common flanders of the times,"
Of modern times, the guilt is yours,
And me my innocence fecures.
Unwilling Mufe, begin thy lay
The annals of a female day.
By nature turn'd to play the rake well
(As we fhall fhew you in the fequel),
The modern dame is wak'd by noon"
(Some authors fay, not quite fo foon),
Becaufe, though fore against her will,
She fate all night up at quadrille.
She ftretches, gapes, unglues her eyes,
And afks, if it be time to rife;
Of head-ach and the fpleen complains ;
And then, to cool her heated brains,
Her night-gown and her flippers brought her,
Takes a large dram of citron-water.
Then to her glafs; and, "
"Don't I look frightfully to-day?
"But was it not confounded hard?
"Well, if I ever touch a card!
"Four mattadores, and lofe codille!
"But run to Tóm, and bid him fix
"The ladies here to-night by fix."
"Madam, the goldfmith waits below;
"He fays, "His bufinefs is to know
"If you'll redeem the filver cup
"He keeps in pawn?" —“ First, shew him up.” "Your dreffing-plate he 'll be content "To take, for intereft cent. per cent. "And, Madam, there 's my lady Spade "Hath fent this letter by her maid.”
Well, I remember what she won; "And hath fhe fent fo foon to dun? "Here, carry down those ten piftoles 66 My husband left to pay for coals: "I thank my ftars, they all are light; "And I may have revenge to-night." Now, loitering o'er her tea and cream, She enters on her ufual theme; Her laft night's ill-fuccefs repeats, Calls lady Spade a hundred cheats : "She flipt fpadillo in her breast, "Then thought to turn it to a jest: "There's Mrs. Cut and the combine, "And to each other give the fign." Through every game pursues her tale, Like hunters o'er their evening ale. Now to another scene give place: Enter the folks with filks and lace: Fresh matter for a world of chat, Right Indian this, right Mechlin that :
"Obferve this pattern; there's a stuff;
"I can have customers enough.
"Dear madam, you are grown so hard
"This lace is worth twelve pounds a yard:
"Madam, if there be truth in man,
"I never fold fo cheap a fan."
This bufinefs of importance o'er,
And madam almost dress'd by four ;
The footman, in his usual phrase,
Comes up with, “Madam, dinner stays."
She answers, in her ufual ftyle,
"The cook must keep it back a while :
"I never can have time to drefs
"(No woman breathing takes up
"I'm hurried fo, it makes me fick ;
"I wish the dinner at Old Nick."
At table now she acts her part,
Has all the dinner-cant by heart:
"I thought we were to dine alone,
"My dear; for fure, if I had known
"This company would come to-day
"But really 'tis my spouse's way!
"He 's fo unkind, he never fends
"To tell when he invites his friends :
"I wish ye may but have enough!"
And while with all this paltry stuff
She fits tormenting every guest,
Nor gives her tongue one moment's reft,
In phrases batter'd, stale, and trite,
Which modern ladies call polite;
You fee the booby husband fit
In admiration at her wit!
But let me now a while furvey
Our madam o'er her evening-tea;
Surrounded with her noify clans
Of prudes, coquets, and harridans;
When, frighted at the clamorous crew,.
Away the God of Silence flew,
And fair Difcretion left the place,
And Modesty with blushing face:
Now enters overweening Pride,
And Scandal ever gaping wide;
Hypocrify with frown severe,
Scurrility with gibing air ;
Rude Laughter seeming like to burst,
And Malice always judging worst;
And Vanity with pocket-glafs,
And Impudence with front of brass ;-
And ftudy'd Affectation came,
Each limb and feature out of frame 9
While Ignorance, with brain of lead,
Flew hovering o'er each female head.
Why should I ask of thee, my Muse,
An hundred tongues, as poets ufe,
When, to give every dame her due,
An hundred thousand were too few?
Or how fhould I, alas, relate
The fum of all their fenfelefs prate,
Their innuendos, hints, and flanders,
Their meanings lewd, and double entendres ?
|