To force it out, my heart must rend: Yet when conjur'd by such a friend-
Think, Peter, how my soul is rack'd! These eyes, these eyes, beheld the fact. Now bend thine ear, since out it must; But, when thou seest me laid in dust, The secret thou shalt ne'er impart, Not to the nymph that keeps thy heart; (How would her virgin soul bemoan A crime to all her sex unknown!) Nor whisper to the tattling reeds The blackest of all female deeds; Nor blab it on the lonely rocks, Where Echo sits, and listening mocks; Nor let the Zephyr's treacherous gale Through Cambridge waft the direful tale: Nor to the chattering feather'd race Discover Cælia's foul disgrace. But, if you fail, my spectre dread, Attending nightly round your bed- And yet I dare confide in you; So take my secret, and adieu. No wonder how I lost my wits : Oh! Cælia, Cælia, Cælia sh!
A BEAUTIFUL YOUNG NYMPH
GOING TO BED:
WRITTEN FOR THE HONOUR OF THE FAIR SEX.
CORINNA, pride of Drury-lane,
For whom no shepherd sighs in vain ; Never did Covent-garden boast So bright a batter'd strolling toast! No drunken rake to pick her up; No cellar, where on tick to sup; Returning at the midnight hour, Four stories climbing to her bower; Then, seated on a three-legg'd chair, Takes off her artificial hair; Now picking out a crystal eye, She wipes it clean, and lays it by. Her eyebrows from a mouse's hide Stuck on with art on either side, Pulls off with care, and first displays 'em, Then in a play book smoothly lays 'em. Now dextrously her plumpers draws, That serve to fill her hollow jaws. Untwists a wire, and from her gums A set of teeth completely comes; Pulls out the rags contriv'd to prop Her flabby dugs, and down they drop. Proceeding on, the lovely goddess Unlaces next her steel ribb'd bodice, Which, by the operator's skill, Press down the lumps, the hollows fill. Up goes her hand, and off she slips The bolsters that supply her hips,
With gentlest touch she next explores Her shankers, issues, running sores; Effects of many a sad disaster, And then to each applies a plaster : But must, before she goes to bed, Rub off the daubs of white and red, And smooth the furrows in her front With greasy paper stuck upon't. She takes a bolus ere she sleeps ; And then between two blankets creeps With pains of love tormented lies ; Or, if she chance to close her eyes, Of Bridewell and the Compter dreams, And feels the lash, and faintly screams; Or, by a faithless bully drawn, At some hedge-tavern lies in pawn; Or to Jamaica seems transported Alone, and by no planter courted; Or, near Fleet ditch's oozy brinks, Surrounded with a hundred stinks, Belated, seems on watch to lie, And snap some cully passing by; Or, struck with fear, her fancy runs On watchmen, constables, and duns, From whom she meets with frequent rubs But never from religious clubs, Whose favour she is sure to find, Because she pays them all in kind. Corinna wakes. A dreadful sight! Behold the ruins of the night! A wicked rat her plaster stole, Half eat, and dragg'd it to his hole. The crystal eye, alas! was miss'd; And puss had on her plumpers p-ss'd.
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