He'd been the worst of all God's vast Creation,
And sunk below the sence of procreation:
He'd muddl'd out his Days in private fear,
And when in sorrow none with him to share:
The Birds and Beasts each other chose his Mate,
And are above the stint of single Fate;
The whole Creation, hate's a single Life,
And shall not Man enjoy a loving Wife?
Sure this Wife Hater, lately came from Hell
To teach poor single Mortals to rebel,
Against the sacred Laws of God and Man
From whence the state of Wedlock first began,
To make our Minds diviner charmes to suite,
Which makes the differance 'twixt a Man and Bruite;
But this blasphemous Scribler tramples down,
These antient Fences; of such great renown,
And Lanshes forth among the Shelves and Rocks
And plead's for plagues of single Life and Pox:
He Courts in Print, all others to be Lewd,
Condemns a Wife and swears he will be rude:
He talks of Roving from each Pole, to Pole,
And with fresh lustful pleasures drown his Soul:
He calls that ease, which Christians counts a Sin,
And walks the Road which Thives and Rogues go in:
He plainly tells how he does spend his time
His lazey progress, shewes what is his Crime
His baudy Books, with Calves skin fenced round,
A proof enough, wherein his faults abound.
He talks of moderation or'e a Glass }
But mentions none of that when with his Lass, }