PINDARICK by JOHN WILMOT

LET Antients boast no more,
Their lew'd Imperial Whore,
Whose everlasting Lust
Surviv'd her Body's latest Thrust;
And when that transitory Dust
Had no more Vigour left in store,
Was still as fresh and active as before.

2

Her Glory must give place,
To one of Modern @3British@1 Race;
Whose every daily Act exceeds
The other's most transcendent Deeds:
She has at length made good,
That there is Humane Flesh and Blood,
Even able to out-do,
All that their loosest Wishes prompt'em to.

3

When she has Jaded quite
Her almost Boundless Appetite;
Cloy'd with the choicest Banquets of Delight,
She'll still drudge on in tastless Vice,
(As if she sinn'd for Exercise)
Disabling st est Stallions every hour:
And when they can perform no more,
She'll rail at'em, and kick them out of Door.

4

@3Mon[mou]th@1 and @3Ca[ndis]h@1 droop,
As first did @3Henning[ha]m@1 and @3Scrope@1:
Nay Scabby @3Ned@1 looks Thin and Pale,
And sturdy @3Frank@1 himself begins to fail:
But Wo betide him if he does,
She'll set her @3Jockey@1 on his Toes,
And he shall end the Quarrel without Blows.

5
Now tell me all you Pow'rs,
Who e're could equal this Lewd Dame of ours?
@3Lais@1 her self must yield,
And Vanquish'd @3Julia@1 quit the Field;
Nor can that Princess, one Day fain'd,
As wonder of the Earth,
For @3Minataurus@1 glorious Birth,
With Admiration any more be Nam'd.
These Puny Heroins of History,
Eclipst by her, shall all forgotten be
Whilst her great Name confronts Eternity.

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