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"THE GENTLEMAN'S STUDY, IN ANSWER TO THE LADY'S DRESSING-ROOM", by                    
First Line: "some write of angels, some of goddess"
Last Line: "they are still fulsome, wretched man"
Alternate Author Name(s): "w----, Miss;
Subject(s): "man-woman Relationships;men;swift, Jonathan (1667-1745);women's Rights;" Male-female Relations;feminism


SOME write of angels, some of goddess,
But I of dirty human bodies,
And lowly I employ my pen,
To write of naught but odious men;
And man I think, without a jest,
More nasty than the nastiest beast.

In house of office, when they're bare,
And have not paper then to spare,
Their hands they'll take, half clean their bottom,
And daub the wall, O -- rot 'em;
And in a minute, with a t -- d,
They'll draw them out a beast or bird,
And write there without ink or pen:
When finger's dry, there's a -- se again.
But now high time to tell my story;
But 'tis not much to all men's glory.

A milliner, one Mrs. South,
I had the words from her own mouth,
That had a bill, which was long owing
By Strephon, for cloth, lace and sewing;
And on a day to's lodging goes,
In hopes of payment for the clothes,
And meeting there, and 'twas by chance,
His valet Tom, her old acquaintance,
Who, with an odd but friendly grin,
Told her his master's not within,
But bid her if she pleased to stay,
He'd treat her with a pot of tea;
So brought her to the study, while
He'd go and make the kettle boil.

She sat her down upon the chair,
For that was all that then was there,
And turned her eyes on every side,
Where strange confusion she espied.

There on a block a wig was set,
Whose inside did so stink with sweat;
The outside oiled with jessamine,
T' disguise the stench that was within.

And next a shirt, with gussets red,
Which Strephon slept in, when in bed;
But modesty forbids the rest,
It shan't be spoke, but may be guessed;
A napkin worn up on a head,
Enough, infection to have bred.

For there some stocks lay on the ground,
One side was yellow, t' other brown;
And velvet breeches (on her word),
The inside all bedaubed with t -- d,
And just before, I'll not desist
To let you know they were be-pissed:
Four different stinks lay there together,
Which were sweat, turd, and piss, and leather.

There in a heap lay nasty socks,
Here tangled stockings with silver clocks,
And towels stiff with soap and hair,
Of stinking shoes there lay a pair;
A nightgown, with gold rich-brocaded,
About the neck was sadly faded.

A close-stool helped to make the fume;
Tobacco-spits about the room,
With phlegm and vomit on the walls;
Here powder, dirt, combs and wash-balls;
Oil-bottles, paper, pens, and wax,
Dice, pamphlets, and of cards some packs;
Pig-tail and snuff, and dirty gloves,
Some plain, some fringed, which most he loves;
A curling-iron stands upright,
False locks and oil lay down close by't
A drabbled cloak hung on a pin,
And basin furred with piss within;
Of pipes a heap, some whole, some broke,
Some cut-and-dry for him to smoke;
And papers that his a-se has cleaned,
And handkerchiefs with snuff all stained:
The sight and smells did make her sick,
She did not come to herself for a week.

A coat that lay upon the table,
To reach so far she scarce was able,
But drew it to her, resolved to try
What's in the pockets, by and by.

The first things that present her view
Were dunning-letters, not a few;
And then the next did make her wonder,
To see of tavern-bills such a number;
And a fine snuff-box there lay hid,
With bawdy picture in the lid,
And as she touched it, by the mass,
It turned, and showed a looking-glass.

The rest she found, since I'm a-telling,
Advertisements of land he's selling,
A syringe, and some dirty papers,
A bawdy-house screw, with box of wafers.

Then all the shelves she searched around,
Where not one book was to be found;
But gallipots all in a row,
And glistening vials, a fine show!

What one pot held she thinks was this:
Diaclom magnum cum gummis,
And spread there was with art, secundum
Unguentum neopolitanum;
Pots of pomatum, panacea,
Injections for a gonorrhea;
Of empty ones there were a score,
Of newly filled as many more.
In plenty too stood box of pills,
Nor did there lack for chirurgeon's bills,
Nor nasty rags all stiff with matter,
Nor bottle of mercurial water,
The use of which he does determine
To cure his itch, and kill his vermin:
'Oh heaven!' says she, 'what creature's man?
All stink without, and worse within!'

With that she rose and went away,
For there she could no longer stay;
And scarce she got in the bedchamber,
And thought herself there out of danger,
But quick she heard with both her ears
Strephon come swearing up the stairs;
She swiftly crept behind the screen,
In order not for to be seen.

Then in came Strephon, lovely sight!
Who had not slept a wink all night;
He staggers in, he swears, he blows,
With eyes like fire, and snotty nose;
A mixture glazed his cheeks and chin
Of claret, snuff, and odious phlegm;
And servant with him, to undress him,
And loving Strephon so caressed him:
'Come hither, Tom, and kiss your master;
Oons, to my groin come put a plaster.'

Tom dexterously his part he played,
To touch his bubo's not afraid;
Nor need he then to hesitate,
But strewed on the precipitate;
Then, in a moment, all the room
Did with the smell of ulcer fume,
And would have lasted very long,
Had not sour belches smelled as strong,
Which from her nose did soon depart,
When overcome with stink of fart,
And after, then came thick upon it
The odious, nauseous one of vomit,
That poured out from mouth and nose
Both on his bed, and floor, and clothes;
Nor was it lessened e'er a bit,
Nor overcome, by stink of s -- t,
Which, in the pot and round about
The brim and sides, he squirted out;
But when poor Tom pulled off his shoes,
There was a greater stink of toes,
And sure, a nasty, loathsome smell
Must come from feet as black as hell.

Then tossed in bed Tom left his Honour,
And went to call up Peggy Connor
To empty th' pot, and mop the room,
To bring up ashes and a broom,
And, after that, mostly pleasantly
To keep his master company.
The prisoner now being suffocated,
And saw the door was wide dilated,
She thought high time to post away,
For it was ten o'clock i' th' day;
And, ere that she got out of doors,
He turns, farts, hiccups, groans and snores.

Ladies, you'll think 'tis admirable
That this to all men's applicable;
And though they dress in silk and gold,
Could you their insides but behold,
There you fraud, lies, deceit would see,
And pride, and base impiety.
So let them dress the best they can,
They still are fulsome, wretched Man.





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