Against her dignity and crown: 
Then pray’d an answer, and sat down. 
  The nymphs with scorn beheld their foes;
When the defendant’s counsel rose,
And, what no lawyer ever lack’d,
With impudence own’d all the fact;
But, what the gentlest heart would vex,
Laid all the fault on t’other sex. 
That modern love is no such thing
As what those ancient poets sing: 
A fire celestial, chaste, refined,
Conceived and kindled in the mind;
Which, having found an equal flame,
Unites, and both become the same,
In different breasts together burn,
Together both to ashes turn. 
But women now feel no such fire,
And only know the gross desire. 
Their passions move in lower spheres,
Where’er caprice or folly steers,
A dog, a parrot, or an ape,
Or some worse brute in human shape,
Engross the fancies of the fair,
The few soft moments they can spare,
From visits to receive and pay,
From scandal, politics, and play;
From fans, and flounces, and brocades,
From equipage and park parades,
From all the thousand female toys,
From every trifle that employs
The out or inside of their heads,
Between their toilets and their beds. 
  In a dull stream, which moving slow,
You hardly see the current flow;
If a small breeze obstruct the course,
It whirls about, for want of force,
And in its narrow circle gathers
Nothing but chaff, and straws, and feathers. 
The current of a female mind
Stops thus, and turns with every wind: 
Thus whirling round together draws
Fools, fops, and rakes, for chaff and straws. 
Hence we conclude, no women’s hearts
Are won by virtue, wit, and parts: 
Nor are the men of sense to blame,
For breasts incapable of flame;
The faults must on the nymphs be placed
Grown so corrupted in their taste. 
  The pleader having spoke his best,
Had witness ready to attest,
Who fairly could on oath depose,
When questions on the fact arose,
That every article was true;
Nor further those deponents knew: 
Therefore he humbly would insist,
The bill might be with costs dismiss’d. 
The cause appear’d of so much weight,
That Venus, from her judgment seat,
Desired them not to talk so loud,
Else she must interpose a cloud: 
For if the heavenly folks should know
These pleadings in the courts below,
That mortals here disdain to love,
She ne’er could show her face above;
For gods, their betters, are too wise
To value that which men despise. 
And then, said she, my son and I
Must stroll in air, ’twixt land and sky;
Or else, shut out from heaven and earth,
Fly to the sea, my place of birth: 
There live with daggled mermaids pent,
And keep on fish perpetual Lent. 
  But since the case appear’d so nice,
She thought it best to take advice. 
The Muses, by the king’s permission,
Though foes to love, attend the session,