AN EPISTOLARY ANSWER To an Exciseman, Who doubted her being the Author of the Washerwoman's Labour. Good Sir, by our English Laws The Accused party may Have leave to plead, themselves to clear, But you condemn Straightway. Unseen, unheard, the Sentence past, For you are sure, I hear, No Woman ever made those lines That in my Name appear. But I'm much more sure that you For once mistaken are; You are not infallible, nor fit To fill the Papal Chair. For there is none on Earth below, Nor yet above the Sky, Can truly say, they made that Book, But poor, despised I. And whether you believe or not The thing is certain true; That Washerwoman made those lines That now are Sent to you. Tho' my Extraction was so low, And I to labour bred; Yet Stories of the Pagan Gods I oft have seen, and read. And were you now In Petersfield Or I in Gloucestershire; What you have Judg'd impossible, I wou'd plainly make appear. But why shou'd you our Sex condemn, And Women all despise We never with you interfere, Nor trouble the Excise, I wonder much, indeed to find That such your Notions are For most of you are wont to be Admirers of the Fair. But Since that we such Ideots are, I hope, you do refrain Our Company, for fear you Shou'd Your Reputation Stain. Tho' if we Education had Which Justly is our due, I doubt not, many of our Sex Might fairly vie with you.