What boots it that the fair are free from war,And what that they're forbid the shield to bear,Against themselves if they knew arms employAnd madly with new wounds their lives destroy?The cruel mother who did first contriveHer babe to butcher ere 'twas scarce alive,Who thus from nature's tender dictates swerv'd,To perish by her proper hands deserv'd.Why do the sex forget their softness? whySuch projects for a foolish fancy try?The belly must be smooth, no wrinkle thereTo shock the lover's wanton glance appear;His touch as well as sight they fain would please,And the womb early of its burden ease.Had woman sooner known this wicked trade,Among the race of men what havock had they made.Mankind had been extinct, and lost the seed,Without a wonder to restore the breed,As when Deucalion and his Purrha hurl'dThe stones that sow'd with men the delug'd world,