Address of Thanks from the Society of Rakes, An
AN ADDRESS OF THANKS FROM THE SOCIETY OF RAKES
To the pious Author of an Essay upon improving and adding to the Strength of Great Britain and Ireland by Fornication.
We Noblemen, Barons, and Burgesses of the foresaid Class, to the Rev. Dr. P HILOSARK , greeting:
Thanks and renown be ever thine,
O daring, sensible divine!
Who in a few learn'd pages,
Like great Columbus, now discovers
A pleasing warld to a' young lovers,
Unken'd to by-past ages.
Down, down with the repenting-stools,
That gart the younkers look like fools
Before the congregation,
Since thou, learn'd youth of rising fame,
Prov'st that there 's neither sin nor shame
In simple fornication.
Now lads, laugh a', and tak your wills,
And scowp around like tups and bulls,
Have at the bonny lasses:
For conscience has nae mair to say,
Our clergyman has clear'd the way,
And proven our fathers asses.
Our dotard dads, snool'd wi' their wives
To girn and scart our wretched lives,
'Till death bound to a fixt ane;
But now as free as cocks and sparrows,
We lawfully may shift our marrows,
And wheel round to the next ane.
Thus any mettled man may have,
Between his cradle and his grave,
By lawful fornication,
Bairns mony mae, with far less din,
Thus free, and be mair useful in
His day and generation.
Thus we may patriotism shaw,
And serve our country ane and a',
By fruitful propagation:
Thus will we bravely man our fleet,
Thus make our regiments a' complete,
And clear frae debts the nation.
Hence shall we never mair hear tell
Of lasses leading apes in hell,
Like them wha aften harl'd
Ane useless life up to fourscore,
Leal maids, and scarcely kent wherefore
They were sent to the warld.
The mimmest now, without a blush,
May speer if any billy sprush
Has fancy for her beauty:
For since the awband 's tane away,
The bonny lass has nought to say
Against a moral duty.
Adultery is the warst of crimes,
And calls for vengeance on these times,
As practis'd in this nation;
But that vile sin can be no more,
When marriage is turn'd out of door
By franker fornication.
Peace be to you in dochters rife,
Since nane needs now to be a wife,
Their tochers winna fash ye;
That universal ane of Cramond,
That gaes alang wi' a good gammon,
Will set aff ilka lassie.
Yet some by your new light will lose,
For those wha kirk affairs engross,
Their session-books may burn all;
Since fornication's pipe 's put out,
What will they have to crack about,
Or jot into their journal?
Even fell K. T. that gart us ban,
And eke that setting-dog his man,
May turn Italian singers,
Or use a teugh St. Johnston ribbon,
For now the gain they were so glib on,
Is slipt out thro' their fingers.
Nae mair at early hours and late
Shall they round bawdy-houses wait,
Like cats for stragling mice;
Departed is that fund of fending,
When fornicators for offending
They gart pay ony price.
Rejoice ye lads of little rent,
Wha loo'd the game, but did lament
Your purses being skranky;
The dearth of forny 's now away,
Since lawfu', ye have nought to pay,
But welcome and we thank ye.
Poor fornicators now grown auld,
Whase blood begins to creep but cauld,
Will grumble with reflection,
To think what fashery they gaed through,
Dear Doctor, wanting ane like you
To give them right direction.
What say ye for yourselves, ye priests,
For naming kind whoremasters beasts,
When using of their freedom?
We hope ye 'll cease to take offence
At worthy wives like Lucky Spence,
Or useful mother Needham.
Look up ye matrons, if ye can,
And bless the reverend pious man,
Who proves that your procuring
Is now sae far frae being a crime,
That devotees, when past their prime,
May lend a hand to whoring.
The fair ane frighted for her fame,
Shall for her kindness bear nae blame,
Or with kirk-censure grapple;
Whilk gart some aft their leeful lane,
Bring to the warld the luckless wean,
And sneg its infant thrapple:
For which by rude, unhallow'd fallows,
They were surrounded to the gallows,
Making sad ruefu' murgeons;
" 'Till their warm pulse forgot to play,
" They sang, they swang, and died away, "
Syne were gi'en to the surgeons.
O leader! see that ye be sure
That 'tis nae sin to play the whore;
For some in haly station
The contrair threep, and sair abuse ye;
But we 'll aft drink your health and reese ye,
For reesing fornication.
We might foresee the canker'd clergy
Wad with vile heterodoxy charge ye,
And cast you out frae mang them;
But that has been the common fate
Of a' reformers wha debate,
Or struggle to o'ergang them.
But letna their ill word disturb ye;
'Tis but a blast, they canna curb ye,
Or cramp your new devotions:
A Briton free thinks as he likes,
And as his fancy takes the fykes,
May preach or print his notions.
Be satisfy'd, your doctrine new
Will favour find with not a few,
It being sae inviting;
And tho' they kick ye frae their kirk,
For that sma' skaith ye need not irk,
We 'll make you a bra' meeting.
O had we fifty vacant kirks,
By pith, or slight, or ony quirks,
And we erected patrons,
Then should you see the Patron Act
Demolish a' the narrow pack,
And sessions rul'd by matrons.
The fattest stipend should be thine,
Thou pious and maist pure divine,
Thy right is back'd wi' reason;
For wha can doubt your care of sauls,
Wha loudly for mair bodies calls,
In this degenerate season?
But nine and forty pulpits still
Would then remain for you to fill
With men of mighty gifts;
Then, students, there were hopes for you
Wha 're of the learn'd freethinking crew,
And now are at your shifts.
Your essay shaws your eloquence,
Your courtly style and flow of sense;
And tho' some say ye blunder,
Ye do them sae with scripture pelt,
They will be forc'd to thumb your belt
At last, and a' knock under.
Your scheme must take; for let me tell ye,
'Tis a good trade that fills the belly,
The proverb proves it plainly:
And to say goodness is not good,
Wad shaw a mind extremely rude,
To argue so prophanely.
Thou well deservest high promotion,
Wha 'st wrote with sic a lively motion
Upon multiplication:
To enrich a kingdom 's better far
Than that curst business of war,
That ushers desolation.
Doctor farewel: O never stint,
For love's sweet sake, to preach and print,
Tho' some with Bedlam shore ye;
Do not sma' punishment regard,
Since virtue has its ain reward,
In persecution, glory.
To the pious Author of an Essay upon improving and adding to the Strength of Great Britain and Ireland by Fornication.
We Noblemen, Barons, and Burgesses of the foresaid Class, to the Rev. Dr. P HILOSARK , greeting:
Thanks and renown be ever thine,
O daring, sensible divine!
Who in a few learn'd pages,
Like great Columbus, now discovers
A pleasing warld to a' young lovers,
Unken'd to by-past ages.
Down, down with the repenting-stools,
That gart the younkers look like fools
Before the congregation,
Since thou, learn'd youth of rising fame,
Prov'st that there 's neither sin nor shame
In simple fornication.
Now lads, laugh a', and tak your wills,
And scowp around like tups and bulls,
Have at the bonny lasses:
For conscience has nae mair to say,
Our clergyman has clear'd the way,
And proven our fathers asses.
Our dotard dads, snool'd wi' their wives
To girn and scart our wretched lives,
'Till death bound to a fixt ane;
But now as free as cocks and sparrows,
We lawfully may shift our marrows,
And wheel round to the next ane.
Thus any mettled man may have,
Between his cradle and his grave,
By lawful fornication,
Bairns mony mae, with far less din,
Thus free, and be mair useful in
His day and generation.
Thus we may patriotism shaw,
And serve our country ane and a',
By fruitful propagation:
Thus will we bravely man our fleet,
Thus make our regiments a' complete,
And clear frae debts the nation.
Hence shall we never mair hear tell
Of lasses leading apes in hell,
Like them wha aften harl'd
Ane useless life up to fourscore,
Leal maids, and scarcely kent wherefore
They were sent to the warld.
The mimmest now, without a blush,
May speer if any billy sprush
Has fancy for her beauty:
For since the awband 's tane away,
The bonny lass has nought to say
Against a moral duty.
Adultery is the warst of crimes,
And calls for vengeance on these times,
As practis'd in this nation;
But that vile sin can be no more,
When marriage is turn'd out of door
By franker fornication.
Peace be to you in dochters rife,
Since nane needs now to be a wife,
Their tochers winna fash ye;
That universal ane of Cramond,
That gaes alang wi' a good gammon,
Will set aff ilka lassie.
Yet some by your new light will lose,
For those wha kirk affairs engross,
Their session-books may burn all;
Since fornication's pipe 's put out,
What will they have to crack about,
Or jot into their journal?
Even fell K. T. that gart us ban,
And eke that setting-dog his man,
May turn Italian singers,
Or use a teugh St. Johnston ribbon,
For now the gain they were so glib on,
Is slipt out thro' their fingers.
Nae mair at early hours and late
Shall they round bawdy-houses wait,
Like cats for stragling mice;
Departed is that fund of fending,
When fornicators for offending
They gart pay ony price.
Rejoice ye lads of little rent,
Wha loo'd the game, but did lament
Your purses being skranky;
The dearth of forny 's now away,
Since lawfu', ye have nought to pay,
But welcome and we thank ye.
Poor fornicators now grown auld,
Whase blood begins to creep but cauld,
Will grumble with reflection,
To think what fashery they gaed through,
Dear Doctor, wanting ane like you
To give them right direction.
What say ye for yourselves, ye priests,
For naming kind whoremasters beasts,
When using of their freedom?
We hope ye 'll cease to take offence
At worthy wives like Lucky Spence,
Or useful mother Needham.
Look up ye matrons, if ye can,
And bless the reverend pious man,
Who proves that your procuring
Is now sae far frae being a crime,
That devotees, when past their prime,
May lend a hand to whoring.
The fair ane frighted for her fame,
Shall for her kindness bear nae blame,
Or with kirk-censure grapple;
Whilk gart some aft their leeful lane,
Bring to the warld the luckless wean,
And sneg its infant thrapple:
For which by rude, unhallow'd fallows,
They were surrounded to the gallows,
Making sad ruefu' murgeons;
" 'Till their warm pulse forgot to play,
" They sang, they swang, and died away, "
Syne were gi'en to the surgeons.
O leader! see that ye be sure
That 'tis nae sin to play the whore;
For some in haly station
The contrair threep, and sair abuse ye;
But we 'll aft drink your health and reese ye,
For reesing fornication.
We might foresee the canker'd clergy
Wad with vile heterodoxy charge ye,
And cast you out frae mang them;
But that has been the common fate
Of a' reformers wha debate,
Or struggle to o'ergang them.
But letna their ill word disturb ye;
'Tis but a blast, they canna curb ye,
Or cramp your new devotions:
A Briton free thinks as he likes,
And as his fancy takes the fykes,
May preach or print his notions.
Be satisfy'd, your doctrine new
Will favour find with not a few,
It being sae inviting;
And tho' they kick ye frae their kirk,
For that sma' skaith ye need not irk,
We 'll make you a bra' meeting.
O had we fifty vacant kirks,
By pith, or slight, or ony quirks,
And we erected patrons,
Then should you see the Patron Act
Demolish a' the narrow pack,
And sessions rul'd by matrons.
The fattest stipend should be thine,
Thou pious and maist pure divine,
Thy right is back'd wi' reason;
For wha can doubt your care of sauls,
Wha loudly for mair bodies calls,
In this degenerate season?
But nine and forty pulpits still
Would then remain for you to fill
With men of mighty gifts;
Then, students, there were hopes for you
Wha 're of the learn'd freethinking crew,
And now are at your shifts.
Your essay shaws your eloquence,
Your courtly style and flow of sense;
And tho' some say ye blunder,
Ye do them sae with scripture pelt,
They will be forc'd to thumb your belt
At last, and a' knock under.
Your scheme must take; for let me tell ye,
'Tis a good trade that fills the belly,
The proverb proves it plainly:
And to say goodness is not good,
Wad shaw a mind extremely rude,
To argue so prophanely.
Thou well deservest high promotion,
Wha 'st wrote with sic a lively motion
Upon multiplication:
To enrich a kingdom 's better far
Than that curst business of war,
That ushers desolation.
Doctor farewel: O never stint,
For love's sweet sake, to preach and print,
Tho' some with Bedlam shore ye;
Do not sma' punishment regard,
Since virtue has its ain reward,
In persecution, glory.
Translation:
Language:
Reviews
No reviews yet.