# A genuine epistle written some time since to the late famous Mother Lodge

A biographical poem, possibly fictional, depicting the life of English prostitute Sally Lodge.
A GENUINE
EPISTLE
Written some Time since to the late Famous
Mother LODGE.
LONDON,
Printed for J. Roberts at the Oxford Arms in Warwick-Lane for the Use of her Creditors.
MDCCXXXV.
(Price Six Pence.)
THE PUBLISHERS TO THE READER.
WE, the Creditors of the late Mrs LODGE, having found some Time since, the following Piece amongst her Effects, which were very unequal to our Claims, have been, at last, persuaded to make it public for our common Benefit, and hope the Town will receive it with the usual Candour it has shown to whatever is genuine. Whether Mrs. DUNBO, the Auth'ress of this Epistle, be still living, or no, we have not been at the Trouble of inquiring, a Circumstance not material to us, or our Reader, to whom we subscribe our selves
Most humble Servants,
The Creditors.
A GENUINE
EPISTLE
To the late Famous
Mother LODGE, &c.
DEAR LODGE, you know my Love for Rhime; You know, I write, whene'er I've Time.
While Poets entertain the Town With Morals, Baudy, or Lampoon, Learn from rude Lines by Punch inspir'd,5 That Life, you have so oft requir'd; But read with Candour, and excuse The Sallies of a Female Muse.
One May Day Morning I was got: My Father was a drunken Sot,10
A Barber,and a Man of Mirth, And marry'd just before my Birth; From whence my Mother, I suppose, God rest her Soul! was none of those, Who needs must have, before they eat, 15 The Parson's Blessing on their Meat.
While Tonsor shav'd, his Consort stitch'd, By neither Trade they were inrich'd; But dy'd in Debt, poor, idle Pair! And left me to our Vicar's Care. 20
Under his Spouse I learnt my Creed; She taught me, how to darn, and read: I pray'd, and work'd, and conn'd my Book; But soon my native Fields forsook.
Now, gay with Hope, to Town I came, 25 Sent up to serve a City Dame, Where I grew notable, and free, Stole now and then a Dish of Tea,
Old Knots, Pins, Batches, Dabs of Lace, And Powder, 'till I lost my Place. 30
Next to a Sempstress I was bound Five tedious Years for seven Pound, Money by the good Vicar lent, In hopes young SALLY would repent: A Drudge,a Slave, I could not stay; 35 But filch'd a Head, and ran away.
Twice seven Years, and something more I now cou'd count, and turn'd a Whore. My Maiden-Head full cheap was sold; It went for something under Gold; But, to oblige each am'rous Swain, I sold, and sold it o'er again, Until I fix'd a keeping 'Squire, Who did my growing Charms admire.
Who now but I? to Park, to Play,$\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$45 To Cards, and Ball I found the Way, And sparkled in my rich Array;
Learnt soon to squander, jilt, and sham, And cuckold easy LIMBERHAM, 'Till, all his Land, and Money gone, 50 I left the Fool to lye alone.
Inrich'd with Jewels, Clothes, and Plate, The Ruins of my Cul's Estate, By the leud Town I grew desir'd; Each Fop to SALLY's Bed aspir'd. 55
Had I play'd on upon the Square, And eat up ev'ry Year my Heir, I had been son at Ease for Life; But I must needs become a Wife!
DUNBO from the Hibernian Shore, 60 As MILO strong, as IRUS poor, With much more Confidence than Art Found a short Way to win my Heart; Too well on me reveng'd Mankind, And left his rifled Spouse behind. 65
Abandon'd, stript of all my Store, My Pride remain'd, tho' I was poor; Nor could I bear the cruel Fate, To sneak, where I had shin'd of late; Besides, my Face was us'd, and grown 70 Familiar to th' inconstant Town.
Now what to do in my Decline? Visit the Realms beyond the Line. To the new World, I guess'd, I might Appear yet new, and guess'd aright; 75 For soon as I had reach'd those Isles, Where Nature in full Vigour smiles, My Stratagems again took place, I found again my tempting Face, Which there for the full Price was sold, 80 Like cast lac'd Cloaths, to Europe old.
Behold me now once more in State! Tribes of black Slaves around me wait,
And fan me while I sleep, or dine; No Indian Queen was half so fine! 85
Fortune, alas! too great to last! My sudden Grandeur quickly past: My Keeper dies! I too must fall! They ship'd me off, and seiz'd on all, Landing me poor (relentless Heirs!) 90 With little left at Tower-Stairs.
Adrift again! what could be done, My Hopes at ebb, my Beauty gone?
To Wapping I retir'd, and ply'd Behind a Bar on Thames's Side, 95 And with my small Remains essay'd To drive a scanty, pedling Trade, Rum, Brandy, Punch, a Wapping Queen, Measuring out to Sailors keen.
Here still; but fat wuth Ease, and Ale, 100 Known by Black SARAH sf the Whale,
Belov'd I live, drink more than eat, Renown'd thro' all the British Fleet, Jaundice, and Dropsy all I fear,
Just entring on my Fiftieth Year. 105
One Daughter, whom our Youth admire,
No matter whom she calls her Sire, With Care I to the Business breed, Her far fam'd Mother to succeed,
When Time, more potent Punch, and Beer 110 Shall put a Stop to my Career.
Thus far thro' Life's odd, checker'd Scenes,
My much lov'd LODGE, I've found the means
To pass still sound, to Fate resign'd,
My Nose unshaken as my Mind! 115
Had we ten Times our Youth restor'd, Ten Times, dear LODGE, we must have whor'd; Bright VENUS reigning at our Birth,
Destin'd us both for Love, and Mirth:
But cou'd we with our Fates contend, 120 Say, why? shou'd we our Fortunes mend?
Let us suppose we had pursu'd That Path, where treads each costive Prude, Perhaps, with some rough, Country Boor, And lawful Brats full Half a Score, 125 We might have dragg'd a starving Life. For what? For the sweet Name of Wife!
No LODGE, not basely thus confin'd, $\scriptstyle {\left.{\begin{matrix}\ \\\\\ \\\ \ \end{matrix}}\right\}\,$ We've nobly liv'd for all Mankind, Drove steady on, nor cast one Look behind! 130
FINIS.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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