Aurelia, when your zeal makes known
Each woman’s failings but your own,
How charming Silvia’s teeth decay,
And Celia’s hair is turning grey:
Yet Celia gay has sparkling eyes,
But (to your comfort) is not wise:
Methinks you take a world of pains,
To tell us Celia has no brains.
Now you wise folk, who make such a pother
About the wit of one another, [10]
With pleasure would your brains resign,
Did all your noddles ache like mine.
Not cuckolds half my anguish know,
When budding horns begin to grow;
Nor battered skull of wrestling Dick,
Who late was drubbed at single-stick;
Not wretches that in fevers fry,
Not Sappho when her cap’s awry,
E’er felt such tort’ring pangs as I;
Nor forehead of Sir Jeffrey Strife, [20]
When smiling Cynthio kissed his wife […]
Just so, Aurelia, you complain
Of vapours, rheums, and gouty pain;
Yet I am patient, so should you,
For cramps and head-aches are our due:
We suffer justly for our crimes;
For scandal you, and I for rhymes […]
Yet there’s a mighty diff’rence too,
Between the fate of me and you;
Though you with tott’ring age will bow, [30]
And wrinkles scar your lovely brow;
Your busy tongue may still proclaim
The faults of ev’ry sinful dame:
You still may prattle nor give o’er,
When wretched I must sin no more.
The sprightly Nine must leave me then,
This trembling hand resign its pen;
No matron ever sweetly sung,
Apollo only courts the young;
And who would not, Aurelia, pray, [40]
Enjoy his favours while they may?
Nor cramp nor head-ache shall prevail;
I’ll still write on, and you shall rail.