The Description of a Town Miss.
OR,
A Looking-Glass for all Confident Ladies.
A POEM,
Describing all their Arts, Titilations, and Temptations which they set to ensnare Young
Men, and unadvised Lovers.
[?]f these few Lines are well digested, no Man shall be seduc'd by a fair flattering woman.
To the Tune of, Amarilli.
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YOu Limber Ladies that appear,
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in diverse kind of dresses,
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As if you meant to put your ware,
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in several sorts of messes:
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Your eye-lids do expressly show,
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to every kind good fellow,
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What colours you do bear below,
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black, brown, white, red, or yellow.
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What is it that ye would be at,
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ye stare so much upon us?
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You look, in brief, as keen as if,
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that you would over-run us:
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Your quakeing hips and trembling lips,
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doth perfectly relate it,
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So very well, that we can tell,
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[?]y'r stark mad to be at it.
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What means you curling & your paint
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your powder, and your patches,
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Unless it be by kind constraint,
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to stow us under hatches:
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Your fancies frail you do intayl,
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with many gay bravadoes:
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'Tis this makes many a Merchant sayl,
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from Venice to Barbadoes.
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Brave consultations do appear,
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when Ladies are convening,
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What makes you steer, and wink & jear
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pray spread abroad your meaning:
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That we may thrust our judgements in
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and spend our approbation,
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Your single wit's not worth a pin,
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till mixt in Copulation.
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And therefore speak your minds sweet souls
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discover your distresses,
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Your necks, and breasts, & rups, & rolls,
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doth furnish us with guesses:
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Your Eye-brows & your shades of hair,
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so temptingly exprest is,
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That by this little show of hair,
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we guess what all the rest is.
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Open your mind, we shall be kind,
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and stifly stand to serve ye,
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If we have but a bit, you'l find
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we do not mean to starve ye:
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With bit for bit, and chinck for chinck,
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we'l quench your Titilation,
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You feed on men-kinds meat and drink
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and have the same temptation.
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This active fire, and high desire,
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too fervently doth cease you,
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That Hercules himself would tire,
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did he attempt to please you:
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He fitted fifty Girls a night,
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but at the last his face is,
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A Ne plus ultra there to write,
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for they were Nunquam Satis.
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With Cypress, and with fine Love-hoods
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you vail your splendant faces,
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Like pictures made to stir the blood,
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put into Christal cases:
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Like Phoebus clouded in the Sky,
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or day-light when 'tis dawning,
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But pray let's try what you mean by
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your Stretching and your Yawning[.]
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We see the sallies of your blood,
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and spirits in commotion:
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We see the pretty Ebb and Flood,
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more active then the Ocean:
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Your stiring, capering, roling eyes,
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where Cupid comes and dances,
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divulge, though we have dancing thighs
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that you have dancing fancies.
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At thirteen years young Ladies are
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contriving tricks to tempt ye,
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Ay sixteen years come if you dare,
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you shall have Kisses plenty:
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At eighteen they are flush as May,
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well furnisht to content ye,
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At fifteen she would bucking be,
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but a Devil at One and Twenty.
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All those designs will never catch,
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for I think there is no man,
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That though sometimes he get a snatch
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will surfeit upon woman:
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So long as we are coming on,
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you simper to deceive us,
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But when out dancing days are done,
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youl wheel about and leave us.
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