Gunemastix
Commend a Womans mercy? 'Tis to say
Tygers are kind, to mis-call night for day.
To say there's vertue in a Witches will,
Is truer far: their mercy's but to kill:
Nay, if they did that soon enough, I'de swear
They creatures all compact of pity were.
But they delight in lingring cruelty,
To see men fry in flames, and piece-meal dye.
Oh they are things, that Nature (vext with men)
Ordain'd for vengeance! and to plague them, then
When she her self blusht at those cruel things
She meant in them to practise. Like those Kings
That smiling to carouse in bloud, appoint
Inferior Executioners, to dis-joynt
Men doom'd for murther; while themselves relent
To be but seers of the punishment.
So Nature turning Tyrant, woman made
Mens spirits scourge; instructing her to trade
In racking of their souls, to flame their hearts,
And to dissect them in a thousand parts.
Their looks indeed speak pity, but they are
Like Fowlers shraps, pleasing but to insnare;
That men being thrall'd once in their custody,
They may delight to see how sad they dye.
Cast thy self prostrate at their mercy gate,
There sue for pity: Ah, 'tis to throw thy fate
And liberty to Pirats: 'tis to give
Life unto those that will not let thee live.
'Tis to commit thy blessings to the wave
Of rugged Seas, in hope that That will save.
Oh! have but so much Faith as to believe,
They are the most obdurate things that live!
Tell them what plagues, what tortures and what wo,
What hell-exceeding pains you undergo
For them; it is all one as if you told
A tale to Flint, Images, or Marble cold.
Their songs, their smiles, their glancings, seemings glad,
Are all but deaths in several Liveries clad.
If e'r they seem to pity, 'tis to know
Your souls close secrets, then to laugh at you.
Or else like Butchers, let their favours fall
To fat you for their slaughter and the Stall.
Or like the Flemming , that the Turk dispatches,
Fills him with Cates , to fling him over hatches.
Live among women! ah, thou more safely maist
Sleep in a bed with Snakes, with Scorpions jest:
They sting the body, and it dyes; but these
Infest the soul with such a sad disease,
Whose plague lives everlastingly, and gives
Nor rest, nor intermission, while thou liv'st.
Their eyes false glasses are; that while the soul
Wings her fair course up to the starry Pole,
They (like a Lark with daring) pull it down,
And then for ever thrall it to their frown.
Their tongues are Syrens notes, which still do train
Th'hearers to death, which before they find, they gain.
Their faces are th'extracted beauties of
The world in one, which Nature made in scoff
Of all else Excellencies; but therein
She hid more treason than the world had sin.
For well she knew those ills that would betide them,
Would shew too foul, without a Veil to hide them.
So that man might be lur'd, and not descry
In Angels shape, she clad black misery.
Envious Nature! since thou needs wouldst make
Torture for man, thou mightst have given a shape
That should have shew'd it like an enemy: so
Before he felt, he might have seen his wo:
And not have trod pits strew'd with forged green,
Whereby as men take beasts, so they take him.
Before she was created, this world was
Still as the Caspian Sea, quiet, a glasse
Of firm contentment; wherein man might be
Frolick some years, and not curse Destiny.
But being made, the first act she did try
Seduc'd Mankind, inletted policy,
Taught him a way (which then he did not know)
To carry murther in a smiling brow.
Hence Fishers learn'd to angle, Huntsmen here
To pitch their Toyls, hence Fowlers to insnare
With cozening lures, hence Lawyers to egg on,
And undo Clients with perswasion.
Flatterers to kill: hence, Tradesmen to deceive,
Physicians hence to gild the Pils they give.
That now the world seems but one shop to be
Of Stratagems, of Fraud and Roguery.
She's mischiefs powder-plot! that at one blow
Gave Man and all the world an Overthrow.
So primitively ill, that she ne'r cou'd
Yet tell the sense of honesty or good.
And therefore at the first was forc'd to creep
Into the world while man was dead asleep:
Then in her young Creation wrought such smart,
As tore the Rib out that lay next his heart:
For had he wak'd, and had but half his sense,
He sooner would have cop'd with Pestilence,
Then joyn'd with her: who so of joy bereft him,
That ere night came she for the Devil left him.
And if it had not been to damn him too,
Sh'had ne'r return'd, she lik'd his company so.
The Serpent sure that tempted her could be
But a meer Type of one more subtile, she
Or else her own ill disposition
The Serpent was, by which sh'was set upon.
Hast thou a friend thou wishest free from scorn,
From Hell within him? wish when he was born
A sea-deep grave his mother did interre,
And that the world of women dy'd with her.
So if he never knew what woman was,
He may in mirth and quiet his time passe.
But he that after a worlds joy doth come
But to spell Woman, is undone! undone!
Her name is Exorcisme , and the most fair
Inchantresses the worst of witches are.
Elsehow could they infatuate the souls
Of wisest men, and soonest such? when fools,
Not having noble room enough to hold
Unbounded Love, are free by being cold.
Oh you Celestial Powers! why did you lend
Accursed man a soul, to be impenn'd
In womens breasts; who use it with despite,
When damning of their own can but requite?
Yet that they may appear in some good strain,
In pities name they'l wrap up their disdain,
So murther you with tears and kindnesse; when
They onely weep that you are not the Man.
And will you call this pity, when it is
Spirit of torture, soul of miseries?
Who's plagu'd thus, boldly may dare Nature to
Find such another plague, man so t'undo.
For they that love, and do not meet with it,
Are gnawn with burning Furies which do sit
Whipping their anguisht souls in them, while they
Are mad to dye, and cannot find the way.
Passion and Fury pulls that from my pen
I never thought of: For they are to men
(When they are loving) things so precious,
That man out of their sight is ruinous.
Whatever large Philosophy could find
Of Vertue, had Idea from their mind.
Whatever Jems, Stars, Flowers or Metals show
Of Beauty, does advanc't in women flow.
A Temple for the Deity so fit,
As Gods great Son left Heaven to dwell in it.
From whence (when man was forfeit to the Law)
He chose life and immortal flesh to draw.
Nor can the world, with all that is below,
A second shape so brave as woman show.
And I have heard, When Heaven and Nature did
Study what blessings to pour on mans head,
It was agreed (his ruines to repair)
He should enjoy a Woman good, kind, fair.
So if they tax thee for thy pens amisse,
Tell'em thou mean'st they should read onely this,
Though all but she, that this converted hath,
Are ten degrees below a Poets wrath.
Tygers are kind, to mis-call night for day.
To say there's vertue in a Witches will,
Is truer far: their mercy's but to kill:
Nay, if they did that soon enough, I'de swear
They creatures all compact of pity were.
But they delight in lingring cruelty,
To see men fry in flames, and piece-meal dye.
Oh they are things, that Nature (vext with men)
Ordain'd for vengeance! and to plague them, then
When she her self blusht at those cruel things
She meant in them to practise. Like those Kings
That smiling to carouse in bloud, appoint
Inferior Executioners, to dis-joynt
Men doom'd for murther; while themselves relent
To be but seers of the punishment.
So Nature turning Tyrant, woman made
Mens spirits scourge; instructing her to trade
In racking of their souls, to flame their hearts,
And to dissect them in a thousand parts.
Their looks indeed speak pity, but they are
Like Fowlers shraps, pleasing but to insnare;
That men being thrall'd once in their custody,
They may delight to see how sad they dye.
Cast thy self prostrate at their mercy gate,
There sue for pity: Ah, 'tis to throw thy fate
And liberty to Pirats: 'tis to give
Life unto those that will not let thee live.
'Tis to commit thy blessings to the wave
Of rugged Seas, in hope that That will save.
Oh! have but so much Faith as to believe,
They are the most obdurate things that live!
Tell them what plagues, what tortures and what wo,
What hell-exceeding pains you undergo
For them; it is all one as if you told
A tale to Flint, Images, or Marble cold.
Their songs, their smiles, their glancings, seemings glad,
Are all but deaths in several Liveries clad.
If e'r they seem to pity, 'tis to know
Your souls close secrets, then to laugh at you.
Or else like Butchers, let their favours fall
To fat you for their slaughter and the Stall.
Or like the Flemming , that the Turk dispatches,
Fills him with Cates , to fling him over hatches.
Live among women! ah, thou more safely maist
Sleep in a bed with Snakes, with Scorpions jest:
They sting the body, and it dyes; but these
Infest the soul with such a sad disease,
Whose plague lives everlastingly, and gives
Nor rest, nor intermission, while thou liv'st.
Their eyes false glasses are; that while the soul
Wings her fair course up to the starry Pole,
They (like a Lark with daring) pull it down,
And then for ever thrall it to their frown.
Their tongues are Syrens notes, which still do train
Th'hearers to death, which before they find, they gain.
Their faces are th'extracted beauties of
The world in one, which Nature made in scoff
Of all else Excellencies; but therein
She hid more treason than the world had sin.
For well she knew those ills that would betide them,
Would shew too foul, without a Veil to hide them.
So that man might be lur'd, and not descry
In Angels shape, she clad black misery.
Envious Nature! since thou needs wouldst make
Torture for man, thou mightst have given a shape
That should have shew'd it like an enemy: so
Before he felt, he might have seen his wo:
And not have trod pits strew'd with forged green,
Whereby as men take beasts, so they take him.
Before she was created, this world was
Still as the Caspian Sea, quiet, a glasse
Of firm contentment; wherein man might be
Frolick some years, and not curse Destiny.
But being made, the first act she did try
Seduc'd Mankind, inletted policy,
Taught him a way (which then he did not know)
To carry murther in a smiling brow.
Hence Fishers learn'd to angle, Huntsmen here
To pitch their Toyls, hence Fowlers to insnare
With cozening lures, hence Lawyers to egg on,
And undo Clients with perswasion.
Flatterers to kill: hence, Tradesmen to deceive,
Physicians hence to gild the Pils they give.
That now the world seems but one shop to be
Of Stratagems, of Fraud and Roguery.
She's mischiefs powder-plot! that at one blow
Gave Man and all the world an Overthrow.
So primitively ill, that she ne'r cou'd
Yet tell the sense of honesty or good.
And therefore at the first was forc'd to creep
Into the world while man was dead asleep:
Then in her young Creation wrought such smart,
As tore the Rib out that lay next his heart:
For had he wak'd, and had but half his sense,
He sooner would have cop'd with Pestilence,
Then joyn'd with her: who so of joy bereft him,
That ere night came she for the Devil left him.
And if it had not been to damn him too,
Sh'had ne'r return'd, she lik'd his company so.
The Serpent sure that tempted her could be
But a meer Type of one more subtile, she
Or else her own ill disposition
The Serpent was, by which sh'was set upon.
Hast thou a friend thou wishest free from scorn,
From Hell within him? wish when he was born
A sea-deep grave his mother did interre,
And that the world of women dy'd with her.
So if he never knew what woman was,
He may in mirth and quiet his time passe.
But he that after a worlds joy doth come
But to spell Woman, is undone! undone!
Her name is Exorcisme , and the most fair
Inchantresses the worst of witches are.
Elsehow could they infatuate the souls
Of wisest men, and soonest such? when fools,
Not having noble room enough to hold
Unbounded Love, are free by being cold.
Oh you Celestial Powers! why did you lend
Accursed man a soul, to be impenn'd
In womens breasts; who use it with despite,
When damning of their own can but requite?
Yet that they may appear in some good strain,
In pities name they'l wrap up their disdain,
So murther you with tears and kindnesse; when
They onely weep that you are not the Man.
And will you call this pity, when it is
Spirit of torture, soul of miseries?
Who's plagu'd thus, boldly may dare Nature to
Find such another plague, man so t'undo.
For they that love, and do not meet with it,
Are gnawn with burning Furies which do sit
Whipping their anguisht souls in them, while they
Are mad to dye, and cannot find the way.
Passion and Fury pulls that from my pen
I never thought of: For they are to men
(When they are loving) things so precious,
That man out of their sight is ruinous.
Whatever large Philosophy could find
Of Vertue, had Idea from their mind.
Whatever Jems, Stars, Flowers or Metals show
Of Beauty, does advanc't in women flow.
A Temple for the Deity so fit,
As Gods great Son left Heaven to dwell in it.
From whence (when man was forfeit to the Law)
He chose life and immortal flesh to draw.
Nor can the world, with all that is below,
A second shape so brave as woman show.
And I have heard, When Heaven and Nature did
Study what blessings to pour on mans head,
It was agreed (his ruines to repair)
He should enjoy a Woman good, kind, fair.
So if they tax thee for thy pens amisse,
Tell'em thou mean'st they should read onely this,
Though all but she, that this converted hath,
Are ten degrees below a Poets wrath.
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