A cursed Crow’d without all civil Rules,
A Herd of Drinking, Cheating, Fighting Fools;
Confusion, Madness would or’e spread the Stage,
And Man would be Destroy’d in one short Age;
Here Man must own, tho scarce without a Blush,
They rather do excel than Equal us;
As useful and more nimble are their Powers,
Their Judgments sharp, and sooner ripe than ours: 
Yet foul Mouth’d Scribler, makes a publick Scorn,
On whom our great Redeemer he was Born;
But Sir! the Bays, they are so much their due;
They’l wear, inspite of impudence and you;
You are so hateful cruel and unjust,
To Load that Sex, with ugly brand of Lust: 
Those whome deserved Slights and losses vex,
Invent new Sins, and throw ’em on that Sex;
Whose thrifty wickedness the Sex forsakes,
He on these beauteous Fields a Sodom makes: 
He ne’re assaults but where the Walls are slight,
True Bullies will with none but Cowards fight. 
A vertuous Woman values fame too high, }
To let such Beastly Slaves her Walls come nigh, }
And that’s the cause, he’s now her Enemy:  }
When the White flag you see by them hung out. 
You then are wonderous daring bold and stout,
When once you but discover those within,
By their faint fire, have a low magazine. 
A slender stock of Chastity in store, }
Your Oathes and Curses then like Cannon roar }
You Devil like; cry out a Whore, a Whore; }
But if a vertuous Wife you tempt in vain,
Who doth resist you with deserv’d disdain: 
And forc’d to leave her with dispair and shame, }
Your Poisonous Tongue at least will blast her Fame, }
If her you can’t; you’l ruin her good Name. }

Is this the single Life you boast so much,
Are these the Charmes, that does your Fancy tutch,
Are these the Blessings which you have enjoy’d,
Are these the arts your lustful thoughts imploy’d;
’Tis plain your roving fancy is far worse,
Than that Blest state which you esteem a Curse;
You make it so by your insatiate mind,
Unbounded lust can never be confin’d. 
It is a Riddle which I can’t unfould
That any Man, can such base notions hold,
Disgrace all order, Marriage Bed defy
And gives Mankind and God himself the lye,
It is a shame, that any Man of Sense,
Should have so damn’d a_ stock of Impudence;
Controul his Maker; and with his Laws dispence. 
Blasphemeous wretch, the scorn of human race,
The very spawn of what is vile and base: 
Who with your cursed pen, you’re not afraid
To cross the end for which Mankind was made;
Alas! what could poor helpless Man have done
If he had been to live on Earth alone,
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,