# The Reasons that Induced Dr S to write a Poem call'd the Lady's Dressing room

Written in response to The Lady's Dressing Room by Jonathan Swift, who was a w:Doctor of Divinity. Text taken from http://homes.chass.utoronto.ca/~cpercy/courses/t-montagu.htm, which gives its source as "from Essays and poems and Simplicity, a comedy, by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu, ed. Robert Halsband and Isobel Grundy (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1977)".
The Doctor in a clean starch'd band, His Golden Snuff box in his hand, With care his Di'mond Ring displays And Artfull shews its various Rays, While Grave he stalks down -- -- Street 5 His dearest Betty -- to meet. Long had he waited for this Hour, Nor gain'd Admittance to the Bower, Had jok'd and punn'd, and swore and writ, Try'd all his Galantry and Wit, 10 Had told her oft what part he bore In Oxford's Schemes in days of yore, But Bawdy, Politicks nor Satyr Could move this dull hard hearted Creature. Jenny her Maid could taste a Rhyme 15 And greiv'd to see him lose his Time, Had kindly whisper'd in his Ear, For twice two pound you enter here, My lady vows without that Summ It is in vain you write or come. 20 The Destin'd Offering now he brought And in a paradise of thought With a low Bow approach'd the Dame Who smileing heard him preach his Flame. His Gold she takes (such proofes as these 25 Convince most unbeleiving shees) And in her trunk rose up to lock it (Too wise to trust it in her pocket) And then return'd with Blushing Grace Expects the Doctor's warm Embrace. 30 But now this is the proper place Where morals Stare me in the Face And for the sake of fine Expression I'm forc'd to make a small digression. Alas for wretched Humankind, 35 With Learning Mad, with wisdom blink! The Ox thinks he's for Saddle fit (As long ago Freind Horace writ) And Men their Talents still mistakeing, The stutterer fancys his is speaking. 40 With Admiration oft we see Hard Features heighten'd by Toupée, The Beau affects the Politician, Wit is the citizen's Ambition, Poor Pope Philosophy displays on 45 With so much Rhime and little reason, And thô he argues ne'er so long That, all is right, his Head is wrong. None strive to know their proper merit But strain for Wisdom, Beauty, Spirit, 50 And lose the Praise that is their due While they've th'impossible in view. So have I seen the Injudicious Heir To add one Window the whole House impair. Instinct the Hound does better teach 55 Who never undertook to preach, The frighted Hare from Dogs does run But not attempts to bear a Gun. Here many Noble thoughts occur But I prolixity abhor, 60 And will persue th'instructive Tale To shew the Wise in some things fail. The Reverend Lover with surprize Peeps in her Bubbys, and her Eyes, And kisses both, and trys--and trys. 65 The Evening in this Hellish Play, Beside his Guineas thrown away, Provok'd the Preist to that degree he swore, the Fault is not in me. Your damn'd Close stool so near my Nose, 70 Your Dirty Smock, and Stinking Toes Would make a Hercules as tame As any Beau that you can name. The nymph grown Furious roar'd by God The blame lyes all in Sixty odd 75 And scornfull pointing to the door Cry'd, Fumbler see my Face no more. With all my Heart I'll go away But nothing done, I'll nothing pay. Give back the Money--How, cry'd she, 80 [I lock'd it in the Trunk stands there And break it open if you dare.] Would you palm such a cheat on me! For poor 4 pound to roar and bellow, Why sure you want some new Prunella? 85 [What if your Verses have not sold, Must therefore I return your Gold? Perhaps your have no better Luck in The Knack of Rhyming than of -- I won't give back one single Crown, 90 To wash your Band, or turn your Gown.] I'll be reveng'd you saucy Quean (Replys the disapointed Dean) I'll so describe your dressing room The very Irish shall not come. 95 She answer'd short, I'm glad you'l write, You'l furnish paper when I shite.