I have almost done with our _Adviser_, for he says but one
thing more; to wit, _that the best of the Sex are no better than
Plagues._ Very hard again upon his poor Mother, who tho' she might be
the best Woman in the World, was, it seems, in her graceless Son's
Opinion, no better than a Pestilence. Certainly this Versifyer never
knew what a Woman is! He must be, as I conjectur'd at first, some
forlorn old Batchelor. And if I could conjure, I believe I should
discover, that his Case is like that of many other old He-Maids I
have heard of. Such senseless Advice as this can have no Effect upon
them; 'tis nothing like this, that deters them from marrying. But
having in some of their first Attempts upon the kinder Sort of the
Fair Sex, come off with Shame and Disgrace, they persuade themselves
that they are, (and perhaps they are) really Impotent: And so durst
not marry, for fear of those dishonourable Decorations of the Head,
which they think it the inevitable Fate of a Fumbler to wear. Then,
like the Fox who could not use his Tail, (but the Fox had really lost
it) they set up for _Advisers_, as the Gentleman I have been dealing
with; and would fain persuade others, that the Use of their own Tails
is more mischievous than beneficial. But I shall leave him to
Repentance; and endeavour to make the Reader some Amends for my
Scribble, by adding the following Verses from the two best English
Poets that ever were; only hinting, that by the first two Lines 'tis
plain from whence our Poetical Adviser had his Inspiration.
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