PRovock'd at length by such unhumane Spite,
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Such sordid Stuff, we're now compell'd to write;
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And who'd contain, when some so void of Sense,
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Attempt to ridicule that sacred Fence;
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For we contriv'd the Hoop to interpose
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'Twixt us and these confounded Creatures Beaux:
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And rather chuse these huge unweildy Tails,
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Than the too near Incroachments of the Males.
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But they enrag'd and griev'd at such restraint,
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A Thousand Things in vain, to fright us vent:
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See how (say one) these little Mountains move,
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Each moulded in the Shape of Suggar Loaves;
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As if they meant to have it understood,
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They're something more than common Flesh and Blood.
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Bless me! (another) what a swinging Tail!
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Heav'ns! how the Ladies mountain-like now sail!
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Faith! Hoops would be good Winter Quarters John;
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If they were not too near the Torrid Zone.
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Others again maliciously infold,
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And swear the Hoop's a Lover's lurking Hold.
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But some lewd Beaux, affecting zealous Rage,
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Affirm it doth portend a wanton Age;
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Since, notwithstanding Nature's Store behind,
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Engines must be contriv'd to gather Wind.
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Good GOD! cou'd any here such horrid Spite;
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Such hurtful Cunning, and forbear to write?
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Yet (tho' your Wigs of such an antique Size,
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And Hats that seem design'd for Hercules,
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Tho' Kapers, Snuff-box-air, pedantick Brains,
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Are rare materials for Satyrick Strains;
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And tho' invited by a prosperous Gale,
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To quite the Shore and loose the eager Sail)
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Since we design to heighten your Restraint,
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(Which seems to be the greatest Punishment)
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And make the Hoops much larger than before,
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For meer Revenge, we'll trouble with no more:
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But, if again you venture anywhere,
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To ridicule, by Jove we will not spare.
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