Earl 0/Rochester.

167

An Epiftle from B. to E.

D Reaming last oh Mrs. Farley,

M -was up this Morning early ;

And I was fain, without my Gown,

To rife i’th’ Cold to get him down.

Hard Shift, alas I but yet a sure,

Although it be no pleasing Cure.

Of old, the fair Ægyptian Slattern,

For Luxury that had no Pattern,

To fortify her Romas Swinger,

Instead of Nutmegs, Mace, and Ginger,

Did spice his Bowls (as Story tells)

With Warts of Rocks, and Spawns of Shells;It had been happy for her Grace,

Had I been in the Rascal’s Place ;

I, who do scorn that any StoneShould raise my ——, but my own,

Had laid her down on ev’ry Couch,

And fpar’dher Pearl, and Diamond Brouch,Until her hot-tail’d Majesty,

Being happily reclaim’d by me,

From all her wild expensive Ways,

Had worn her Gems on Holidays:

But since her-has long done itching,

Let us discourse of modern Bitching.

I must intreat you, by this Letter,

T’ enquire for Whores, the more the better:Hunger makes any Man a Glutton.

If Roberts, Thomas, Mrs. Button,

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