ABSTRACT
Safe past the Gnome thro' this fantastick Band, 55 A Branch of healing Spleenwort in his hand. Then thus addrest the Pow'r-Hail wayward Queen! Who rule the Sex to Fifty from Fifteen, Parent of Vapours and of Female Wit, Who give th' Hysteric or Poetic Fit, 60 On various Tempers act by various ways, Make some take Physick, others scribble Plays; Who cause the Proud their Visits to delay, And send the Godly in a Pett, to pray. A Nymph there is, that all thy Pow'r disdains, 65 And thousands more in equal Mirth maintains. But oh! if e'er thy Gnome could spoil a Grace, Or raise a Pimple on a beauteous Face, Like Citron-Waters Matrons' Cheeks inflame, Or change Complexions at a losing Game; 70 If e'er with airy Horns I planted Heads, Or rumpled Petticoats, or tumbled Beds, Or caus'd Suspicion when no Soul was rude, Or discompos'd the Head-dress of a Prude, Or e'er to costive Lap-Dog gave Disease, 75 Which not the Tears of brightest Eyes could ease: Hear me, and touch Belinda with Chagrin; That single Act gives half the World the Spleen.
