An Essay in Defence of the Female Sex/Section 5

They tax us with a long Lit of Faults, and Imperfections, and eem to have taken a Catalogue of their own Follies and Vices, not with deign to correct them, but to hift of the Imputation to us. There is no doubt, but particular Women may be found upon whom every charge may be jutified; but our Sex is not anwerable for them, till they prove there are no uch Men, which will not be before Dooms-day. However, like ill Neighbours they bring the Dirt out of their own Homes not out of neatnes, but out of Envy to their Neighbours, at whoe Doors they lay it. But let them remove their Follies as oft as they pleae, they are till as contant to them, as the Needle to the North Pole, they point them out which way oever they move. Let us ee what thee Qualities are, they o liberally betow uponupon us [sic], and after ee how they fit the Donours, and urvey &rsquo;em in their proper Figures and Colours. The mot familiar of thee are Vanity, Impertinence, Enviounes, Diimulation, Incontancy rather than occaion Blood-hed. He is o full of Courage, that it boils over when there is no occaion, and his Sword and Peron are always at Leisure, and at your Service, till you want them, and then to his great Trouble, he is always indipenably engag&rsquo;d otherwie. He wears Red, and a long Sword openly to hew his Valour, and Mail privately to hew his Dicretion. He threatens terribly, but he is like a Witch, if you draw Blood of him, he has no power to hurt you. No man hews or boats more of his Scars with les Reaon. He corns to take a blow in the Face, and a Back-piece is as good to him as a whole ute of Armour. He is at firt the Terrour of all the Young Bullies, at lat their Maygame, and they blood their Cub Hectors upon him, as they do young Beagles on a Hare. Good uage makes him inolent, but he fawns like a Spaniel mot upon thoe that beat him. When he is dicover&rsquo;d by all the ret of the World, the Cheat paes till upon himelf, and he is pleas&rsquo;d with the terrible Figure he makes in his Glas, tho&rsquo; he is ready to hake at his own Shaddow. There are men of an humour directly oppoite to this, yet e&rsquo;ry whit as Mad, Foolih, and Vain; thee are your Men of nice Honour, that love Fighting for the ake of Blows, and are never well but when they are wounded, they are evere Interpreters of Looks, are affronted at every Face that don&rsquo;t please &rsquo;em, and like true Cocks of the Game, have a quarrel to all Mankind at firt ight. They are Paionate Admirers of carr&rsquo;d Faces, and dote on a Wooden Leg. They receive a Challenge like a Billet Douce, and a home thrut as a Favour. Their common Adverary is the Contable, and their uual Lodging the Counter. Broken heads are a diverion, and an Arm in a Scarfe is a high atisfaction. They are frugal in their expences with the Taylor, for they have their Doublets pinkt on their Backs, but they are as good as an Annuity to the Surgeon, tho&rsquo; they need him not to let &rsquo;em blood. Flanders is their Mitres, and a Clap from her carries &rsquo;em off the Stage. If they return, an Hopital is their Retreat, or the Sheriff their Executor. Thee two, Madam, are very different extravagances, and very trange ones, yet they are real, and uch as appear every day. But, what is mot to be wonder&rsquo;d at, arie both from the ame Principle, and the ame mitaken Notion, and are only differenc&rsquo;d by the diverity of Tempers in Men. The common Motive to both is Vanity, and they jointly concurr in this Opinion, that Valour is the mot etimable, and mot honourable Quality, that Man is capable of; they agree in a deire to be honour&rsquo;d and fear&rsquo;d, but they differ in their methods in peruing this common End. The one is naturally active, bold and daring; and therefore takes the true coure to arrive at it by hewing what he can do, by what he dare uffer, and his immoderate deire, and indicretion uffer him to know no bounds. The other is mean pirited, and fearful, and eeks by fale Fire to Counterfeit a heat that may pas for genuine, to conceal the Frot in his Blood, and like an ill Actor, over-does his Part for want of undertanding it, which &rsquo;tis impoible he hou&rsquo;d. Among peaceable Men, and thoe of his own Temper he comes off with Colours flying, and thoe are the Men he wou&rsquo;d be valiant amongt only, cou&rsquo;d he read Men&rsquo;s hearts. But the firt Rencounter betrays the As through the Lion&rsquo;s Skin, and he is Cudgel&rsquo;d like an As in pite of his covering. It is our happines, Madam, that we lie under no manner of Temptation from thee two Vanities, whereof one is o dangerous, the other o ridiculous. For all humours that are forc&rsquo;d againt the natural bent of our Tempers mut be o. Nature is our bet guide, and has fitted ev&rsquo;ry Man for ome things more particularly than others; which if they had the ene to proecute, they wou&rsquo;d at leat not be ridiculous, if they were not extraordinary. But o prevalent are our Vanity, and this Apih Humour of Imitation, that we peruade our elves, that we may practie with applaue, whatever we ee another ucceed in; tho&rsquo; as contrary to the intent of our Nature, as Dancing to an Elephant; o ome Men that talk well of erious matters, are o mov&rsquo;d at the applaue ome merry Drolls gain, that they forget their gravity, and aiming to be Wits, turn Buffoons. There are others, that are o taken with the actions and grimace of a good Mimick, that they fall preently to making awkard Faces and wry Mouths, and are all their lives after in a Vizor, Maskt tho&rsquo; bare fac&rsquo;d. Thee, and innumerable others of the like Nature, are the leer Follies of Mankind, by which their Vanity makes &rsquo;em fit only to be laugh&rsquo;d at. There are others, who by more tudied and refin&rsquo;d Follies arrive to be more coniderable, and make a great Figure and Party among their Sex. Of the firt rank of thee is the Beau, who is one that has more Learning in his Heels than his Head, which is better cover&rsquo;d than fill&rsquo;d. His Taylor and Barber are his Cabinet Councel, to whom he is more beholding for what he is, than to his Maker. He is One that has travell&rsquo;d to ee Fahions, and brought over with him the newet cut uit, and the prettiet Fancy&rsquo;d Ribbands for Sword Knots. His bet Acquaintance at Paris was his Dancing Mater, whom he calls the Marquis, and his chief Viits to the Opera&rsquo;s. He has een the French King once, and knows the name of his chief Miniter, and is by this ufficiently convinc&rsquo;d, that there are no Politicians in any other Part of the World. His improvements are a nice Skill in the Mode, and a high Contempt of his own Country, and of Sene. All the knowledge he has of the Country, or Manners of it, is in the keeping of the Valet that follow&rsquo;d him hither, and all that he retains of the Language is a few modih words to lard his dicoure with, and hew his Breeding, and the names of his Garniture. He hou&rsquo;d be a Philoopher, for he tudies nothing but himelf, yet ev&rsquo;ry one knows him better, that thinks him not worth knowing. His looks and getures are his contant Leon, and his Glas is the Oracle that reolves all his mighty doubts and cruples. He examines and refrehes his Complexion by it, and is more dejected at a Pimple, than if it were a Cancer. When his Eyes are et to a languihing Air, his Motions all prepar&rsquo;d according to Art, his Wig and his Coat abundantly Powder&rsquo;d, his Gloves Eenc&rsquo;d, and his Handkercher perfum&rsquo;d, and all the ret of his Bravery rightly adjuted, the greatet part of the day, as well the buines of it at home, is over; &rsquo;tis time to launch, and down he comes, cented like a Perfumers Shop, and looks like a Veel with all her rigging under ail without Ballat. A Chair is brought within the door, for he apprehends every Breath of Air as much, as if it were a Hurricane. His firt Viit is to the Chocolate Houe, and after a quarter of an Hours Compliment to himelf in the great Glas, he faces about and alutes the Company, and puts in practice his Mornings Meditations; When he has made his Cringes round, and play&rsquo;d over all his Tricks, out comes the fine Snuh-box, and his Noe is Regal&rsquo;d a while: After this he begins to open, and tarts ome learned Argument about the newet Fahion, and hence takes occaion to commend the next Man&rsquo;s Fancy in his Cloths, this uhers in a dicoure of the Appearance lat Birth Night, or Ball at Court, and o a Critick upon this Lord, or that Ladies Maquing Habit. From hence he adjourns to the Play-houe, where he is to be met again in the ide Box, from whence he makes his Court to all the Ladies in general with his Eyes, and is particular only with the Orange-Wench. After a while he engages ome neighbouring Vizor, and together they run over all the Boxes, take to pieces every Face, examine every Feature, pas their Cenure upon every one, and o on to their Dres; here he very Judiciouly gives his opinion upon every particular, and determines whoe Colours are well choen, whoe Fancy is neatet, and whoe Cloths it with mot Air; but in concluion ees no Body compleat, but himelf in the whole Houe. After this he looks down with contempt upon the Pit, and rallies all the lovenly Fellows, and awkward Beau&rsquo;s (as he calls them) of t&rsquo;other End of Town, is mightily offended at their ill cented Snuh, and in pight of all his Pulvilio and Eences, is overcome with the tink of their Cordovant Gloves. To cloe all, Madam, in the Mask mut give him an account of the Scandal of the Town, which he does in the Hitory of abundance of Intrigues, real or feign&rsquo;d; at all which he laughs aloud and often, not to hew his atisfaction, but his Teeth. She hews him who is kept by uch a Lord, Who was lately dicarded by uch a Knight, for granting Favour too indicreetly to uch a GentlemenGentleman [sic]: who has lately been in the Country for two or theethree [sic] Months upon extraordinary Occaions, To all which he gives great attention, that he may pas for a Man of Intelligence in another Place. His next Stage is Locket&rsquo;s, where his Vanity, not his Stomach, is to be gratified with omething that is little and dear, Quails and Ortalans are the meanet of his Diet, and a Spoonful of Green Peae at Chritmas, are worth to him more than the inheritance of the Field where they grow in Summer. Every thing falls in his Eteem, as it fall in price, and he wou&rsquo;d not o much as tat the Wine, if the hard name, and the high rate did not give it a relih. After a glas, or two, (for a Pint is his tint) he begins to talk of his Intrigues, boats much of the Favours he has received, hews counterfeit Tokens, and in Concluion landers ome Lady, or other of unquetion&rsquo;d Vertue with a particular fondnes for him. His Amours are all profound Secrets, yet he makes a confidence of &rsquo;em to every Man he meets with. He pretends a great reverence for the Ladies, and a mighty tendernes of their Reputations; yet he is like a Fleh Flye, whatever he blows on is tainted. He talks of nothing under Quality, tho&rsquo; he never obtain&rsquo;d a Favour which his Man might not have for half a Crown. He, and his Footman in this Cae are like English, and Dutch at an Ordinary in Holland, the Fare is the ame, but the Price is vatly different. Thus the Show goes forward, till he is beaten for Trepaes he was never guilty of, and hall be damn&rsquo;d for Sins he never Committed. At lat, with his Credit as low as his Fortune he retires sullenly to his Cloiter, the King&rsquo;s-Bench, or Fleet, and paes the ret of his days in Privacy, and Contemplation. Here, Madam, if you pleae wee&rsquo;l give him one Viit more, and ee the lat Act of the Farce; and you hall find him (whoe Sobriety was before a Vice, as being only the Pimp to his other Pleaures, and who fear&rsquo;d a lighted Pipe as much as if it had been a great Gun levell&rsquo;d at him) with his Noe Flaming, and his Breath tinking of Spirits wore than a Dutch Tarpawlin&rsquo;s, and moking out of a hort Pipe, that for ome Months has been kept hot as contantly as a Glas-Houe, and o I leave him to his Meditation. You wou&rsquo;d think it yet more trange, that any one hould be Slovenly and Naty out of Vanity; yet uch there are I can aure you, Madam, and cou&rsquo;d eaily give a decription of &rsquo;em, but that o foul a Relation mut needs be Naueous to a Peron o Neat as your Self; and wou&rsquo;d be treating You as the Country Squire did his Court Friend, who when he had hew&rsquo;d him all the Curioities of his Houe and Gardens, carried him into his Hog-ties. But there are more than enow to justifie what I have aid of the Humour of Diogenes, who was as vain and as proud in his Tub, as Plato cou&rsquo;d be in the midt of his fine Perian Carpets, and rich Furniture. Vanity is only an Ambition of being taken notice of, which hews it elf variouly according to the humour of the Perons; which was more extravagant in the Anti-Beau, than in the Beau Philoopher. Vanity is the veriest Proteus in the World, it can Ape Humility, and can make Men decry themelves on purpoe to be Fltter&rsquo;d; like ome cunning Preachers that cry up Mortification and Self-denial perpetually, and are pamper&rsquo;d all the while by the Zeal, and at the Charges of their Followers, who are affraid the good Man hou&rsquo;d tarve himelf. It is the Bleing of Fools, and the Folly of Ingenious Men. For it makes thoe contentedly hugg themelves under all the corn of the World, and the Indignities that are offer&rsquo;d &rsquo;em, and thee retles and diatisfied with its applaue. Both think the World envious, and that their merit is injur&rsquo;d, and it is impoible, to right either of &rsquo;em to their Minds; for thoe have no title to the pretence of merit, and thee not o much as they think they have. Yet it is the Happines of the firt that they can think themelves capable of moving Envy; for though they commonly mitake the Deriion of Men, for their applaue, yet Men are ometimes o ill Natur&rsquo;d as to undeceive &rsquo;em, and then it is their Comfort, that thee are envious Men, and mirepreent the Worlds opinion of &rsquo;em. Cou&rsquo;d thee Men be convinc&rsquo;d of their mitake, I ee nothing that hou&rsquo;d hinder them from being deperate, and hanging or dipoing of themelves ome other uch way. For though a Man may comfort himelf under Afflictions, it is either that they are undeerved, or if deerved, that he uffers only for Overights, or rah Acts, by which the wiest Man may be ometimes overtaken; that he is in the main Dicreet and Prudent, and that others believe him o. But when a Man falls under his own Contempt, and does not only think himelf not wie, but by Nature made abolutely incapable of ever becoming Wie, he is in a deplorable State, and wants the common Comfort, as well of Fools, as Wie Men, Vanity; which in uch a Cae is the only proper Mediatour of a Reconcilement. No Quality eems to be more Providentially ditributed to every Man according to his Neceity; for thoe that have leat Wit, ought to have the greatet Opinion of it; as all other Commodities are rated highet, where they are carcet. By this means the level is better maintain&rsquo;d amongt Men, who, were this imaginary Equality detroy&rsquo;d, might be apt to reverence, and idolize one another too much, and (forgetting the common Fate, they are all Born to) pay Honours too near divine to their Fellow Mortals. But as the humour of the World now runs, this ort of Idolatry is carce likely to come into Fahion. We have too great an Opinion of our elves, to believe too well of any one ele, and we are in nothing more difficult than in points of Wit and Undertanding, in either of which we very unwillingly yield the Preference to any Man. There is nothing of which we affect to peak with more humility and indifference than our own Sene, yet nothing of which we think with more Partiality, and Preumption. There have been ome o bold as to aume the Title of the Oracles of Reaon to themelves, and their own Writings; and we meet with others daily, that think themelves Oracles of Wit. Thee are the mot Vexatious Animals in the World, that think they have a Priviledge to torment and plague every Body; but thoe mot, who have the bet Reputation for their Wit or Judgment; as Fleas are aid to molet thoe mot, who have the tenderet Skins, and the weetet Blood. Of thee the mot voluminous Fool is the Fop Poet, who is ownone [sic] that has always more Wit in his Pockets than any where ele, yet eldom or never any of his own there. Eop&rsquo;s Daw was a Type of him; For he makes himelf fine with the Plunder of all Parties. He is a Smuggler of Wit, and teals French Fancies without paying the cutomary Duties. Vere is his Manufacture; For it is more the labour of his Finger than his brain. He pends much time in Writing, but ten times more in Reading what he has Written. He is loaden contantly with more Papers, and duller than a Clerk in Chancery, and pends more time in Hearings, and Rehearings. He asks your Opinion, yet for fear you hou&rsquo;d not jump with him, tells you his own firt. He deires no Favour, yet is diappointed, if he be not Flatter&rsquo;d, and is offended always at the Truth. His firt Education is generally a Shop, or a Counting-Houe, where his acquaintance commences with the Bell-man upon a New Years day. He puts him upon Intriguing with the Mues, and promies to Pimp for him. From this time forward he hates the name of Mechanick, and reolves to ell all his tock, and purchae a Plantation in Parnaus. He is now a Poetical Harberdaher of Small Wares, and deals very much in Novels, Madrigals, Riddles, Funeral and Love Odes, and Elegies, and other Toyes from Helicon, which he has a Shop o well firnih&rsquo;d with, that he can fit you with all orts, and Sizes, upon all Occaions in the twinkling of an Eye. He frequents Apollo&rsquo;s Exchange in Covent-Garden, and picks up the frehet Intelligence, what Plays are upon the Stocks, or ready to be launch&rsquo;d; who have lately made a good Voyage, who a aving one only, and have uffer&rsquo;d a Wreck in Lincoln&rsquo;s-Inn-Fields, or Drury-Lane, and which are brought into the Dock to be Careen&rsquo;d, and fitted for another Voyage. He talks much of Jack Dryden, and ''Will. Wycherley'', and the ret of that Set, and protets he can&rsquo;t help having ome repect for &rsquo;em, becaue they have o much for him, and his Writings; otherwi he cou&rsquo;d hew &rsquo;em to be meer Sots and Blockheads that undertand little of Poetry, in comparion of himelf; but he forbears &rsquo;em meerly out of Gratitude, and Compaion. Once a Month he fits out a mall Poetical Smeck at the charge of his Bookeller, which he lades with French Plunder new vampt in Englih, mall Ventures of Tranlated Odes, Elegies and Epigrams of Young Traders, and ballats with heavy Proe of his own; for which returns are to be made to the everal Owners in Teters, or applaue from the Prentices and Tyre Women that deal for &rsquo;em. He is the Oracle of thoe that want Wit, and the Plague of thoe that have it; for he haunts their Lodgings, and is more terrible to &rsquo;em, than their Duns. His Pocket is an unexhaustible Magazine of Rhime, and Nonene, and his Tongue like a repeating Clock with Chimes, is ready upon every touch to ound to &rsquo;em. Men avoid him for the ame reaon, they avoid the Pillory, the ecurity of their Ears; of which he is as merciles a Proecutor. He is the Bane of Society, a Friend to the Stationers, the Plague of the Pres, and the Ruine of his Bookeller. He is more profitable to the Grocers and Tabacconits, than the Paper Manufacture; for his Works, which talk o much of Fire and Flame, commonly expire in their Shops in Vapour and Smoak. If he apire to Comedy, he intrigues with ome experienc&rsquo;d Damel of the Town, in order to intruct himelf in the humour of it, and is cullied by her into Matrimony, and o is furnih&rsquo;d at once with a Plot, and two good Characters, himelf and his Wife, and is paid with a Portion for a Jointure in Parnaus, which I leave him to make his bet of. . I hall not trouble you with any more Intances of the foolih vanities of Mankind; becaue I am affraid I have been too large upon that Head already. Not that I think there is any Order or Degree of Men, which wou&rsquo;d not afford many and notorious Intances for our Purpoe. For as I think Vanity almot the Univeral mover of all our Actions, whether good or bad; o I think there are carce any ManMen [sic] o Ingenious, or o Vertuous, but omething of it will hine through the greatet Part of what they do, let them cat never o thick a Vail over it. What makes Men o olicitous of leaving a Reputation behind &rsquo;em in the World, though they know they can&rsquo;t be affected with it after Death, but this even to a degree of Folly? What ele makes great Men involve themelves in the Fatigues and hazards of War, and intricate Intrigues of State, when they have already more than they can enjoy, but an Itch of being talk&rsquo;d of and remembred, to which they acrifice their preent happines and repoe? But I hall carry thee coniderations no farther; becaue I have already ingled out ome of thoe many, whoe Vanity is more extravagant and ridiculous, than any our Sex is chargeable with, and theethese [sic] light Touches may erve to let &rsquo;em ee, that even the greatet, and Wiet are not wholely exempt, if they have it not in a higher Degree, tho&rsquo; they exercie it in things more Popular, and Plauible. I hope therefore the burthen of this good Quality will not hereafter be laid upon us alone, but the Men will be contented to divide the Load with us, and be thankful that they bear les than their Proportion.