Vol. I.
Poetical Essays in FEBRUARY, 1731.
75
The Lady's Delight, A Riddle.
SIR George, a remarkable justice o' peace,A retailer of laws for the sake of the fees,Had once brought before him a fellow, who loathTo discover his friends, took the following oath:
An't like your, worship, sir, I've seen,At a good house near College Green,Four ladies, great as queens in name,Meet four gallants of equal fame,Their royal names I must concealYet so much of them will reveal,That you may soon guess who they are,And what the name the ladies bear.
Of either sex (pray note) there's twoOf portly mien; but swarthy hue,The rest with ruddy faces prove,They're not averse to sports of love;And as I hope I shall be sainted,I swear I think they all were painted.And further still these wanton dames,Address their sports with fond nick-names:Come, lusty Hercules, says one;Another, dearest Cupid, come.If Pitts will fill my longing arms,Says third, I'm free from future harms:The fourth e'er she'll create a strife,Resolves to be the Gardiner's Wife.
Then strait, pursuant to their wish,A service comes of costly fish:Which ended they their tricks begin,Upon a carpet red, or green,Frisking and cap'ring in the air,Like tumbler's at St James's fair.Come, strip's the word, a lady cries,See here the ready carpet lies:Nay once a man whom well I knew,As you do me, or I do you, Chanc'd in the room where this lewd throngWere at their gambols all ding dong,And him they stript with looks demure,And sent him home to seek a cure.
By certain articles agreed on;Each lady take the man she's need on;Some, after having tired three,Call, here a fourth man for me.Oft have I through a cranny seen,A lady, whom they call the queen,Upon her back unseemly lain,Supporting a gallant or twain;And all the club with eyes intentUpon this shameful merriment.When one doth to another call,Be't he, or she they turn up all,I heard them with, familiar faces,Disputing briskly of their A-sMine's black, says one, and nam'd the thing.Mine, says another, 's for the King,Why, says a third, 'cause I've a red one,Must I the publick jest be made on?
This is the trade these ladies drive,Then guess how well their husbands thrive:In short, they are scarce e'er content;Till all they have is gone and spent.Honour has stood so many stakes,That the stale bait no longer takes.'Tis this, and other such like doings,That many a soul and body ruins,Which, as a justice of the peace,I hope your worship will suppress.
Hold, sir! I think there's one thing else,Such as no hist'ry parallels:After one man, in one short hour,Six times has done the trick well o'er,Says madam, I'll beg one more.Then to't again they all engage,Down from the monarch to the page.
Oft have I seen when tir'd with play,One set of gallants turn'd away,A young lady hath sent her manFor fresh ones to begin again.
A Bacchanalian Flight.
DEscend my muse, descend with speed!And aid me with thy gen'rous steed,(We bards would have you understand,Tho' poor we've horses at command)I'll take a journey into th' air,And build a few fine castles there.
'Tis done, the Pegasus appears,Arch'd his high neck, and cock'd his ears,What vig'rous blood swells every vein,How graceful flows his waving main!What sparkling flame his eye balls dart,How well proportion'd ev'ry part!(You see no Pegasus, you cry.Then, sir, you've no poetick eye)And now I'm fix'd, and now he go's,Where we'll take up he's wise that knows:Gods! what a prospect neers my sight!I'm pleas'd―and yet I'm in a fright.Prodigious this, still, still we rise,We'll in a moment reach the skies.Already see the Lunar sphere!But what do's Mr B---l there?Too plain a proof it must be own'd,That I'm still grov'ling on the ground.
