| |
(From Pills to Purge Melancholy, 1707)
NOW that Love’s Holiday is come, | |
| And Madge the Maid hath swept the room, | |
| And trimmed her Spit and Pot; | |
| Awake my merry Muse and Sing, | |
| The Revels and that other thing, | 5 |
| That must not be forgot. | |
| |
| As the gray Morning dawned, ’tis said, | |
| Clorinda broke out of her bed, | |
| Like Cynthia in her Pride, | |
| Where all the Maiden Lights that were | 10 |
| Comprised within our Hemisphere, | |
| Attended at her side. | |
| |
| But wot you then, with much ado, | |
| They dressed the Bride from top to toe! | |
| And brought her from her Chamber: | 15 |
| Decked in her Robes, and Garments gay, | |
| More sumptuous than the live-long day, | |
| Or Stars enshrined in Amber. | |
| |
| The sparkling bullies of her Eyes, | |
| Like two Eclipsed Suns did rise, | 20 |
| Beneath her Crystal brow; | |
| To show, like those strange accidents, | |
| Some sudden changeable events, | |
| Were like to hap below. | |
| |
| Her cheeks bestreaked with white and red, | 25 |
| Like pretty tell-tales of the bed, | |
| Presaged the blust’ring night, | |
| With his encircling arms and shade, | |
| Resolved to swallow and invade, | |
| And screen her virgin light. | 30 |
| |
| Her lips, those threads of Scarlet dye, | |
| Wherein Love’s charms and quiver lie, | |
| Legions of sweets did crown, | |
| Which smilingly did seem to say, | |
| O crop me! crop me! whilst you may, | 35 |
| Anon they’re not mine own. | |
| |
| Her breasts, those melting Alps of snow; | |
| On whose fair hills in open show, | |
| The God of Love lay napping; | |
| Like swelling Butts of lively wine, | 40 |
| Upon their Ivory Tilts did shine, | |
| To wait the lucky tapping. | |
| |
| Her waist, that tender type of man, | |
| Was but a small and single span, | |
| Yet I dare safely swear, | 45 |
| He that whole thousands has in fee, | |
| Would forfeit all, so he might be | |
| Lord of the Manor there. | |
| |
| But now before I pass the line, | |
| Pray, Reader, give me leave to dine, | 50 |
| And pause here in the middle; | |
| The Bridegroom and the Parson knock, | |
| With all the Hymeneal flock, | |
| The Plum-cake and the Fiddle. | |
| |
| Whenas the Priest Clarinda sees, | 55 |
| He stared, as’t had been half his fees, | |
| To gaze upon her face: | |
| And if the spirit did not move, | |
| His countenance was far above | |
| Each sinner in the place. | 60 |
| |
| With mickle stir he joined their hands, | |
| And hampered them in Marriage bands, | |
| As fast as fast may be: | |
| Where still methinks, methinks, I hear, | |
| That secret sigh in ev’ry ear, | 65 |
| Once, love, remember me. | |
| |
| Which done, the Cook he knockt amain, | |
| And up the dishes in a train | |
| Came smoking, two and two; | |
| With that they wiped their Mouths and sate, | 70 |
| Some fell to quaffing, some to prate, | |
| Ay marry, and welcome too. | |
| |
| In pairs they thus impail’d the Meat, | |
| Roger and Margaret, and Thomas and Kate, | |
| Ralph and Bess, Andrew and Maudlin; | 75 |
| And Valentine, eke with Sybil so sweet, | |
| Whose Cheeks on each side of her Snuffers did meet, | |
| As round and as plump as a Codling. | |
| |
| When at the last they had fetched their frees, | |
| And mired their stomachs quite up to their knees | 80 |
| In Claret and good Cheer; | |
| Then, then began the merry din, | |
| For as it was they were all on the pin, | |
| O! what kissing and clipping was there. | |
| |
| But as Luck would have it, the Parson said grace, | 85 |
| And to frisking and dancing they shuffled apace, | |
| Each Lad took his Lass by the Fist, | |
| And when he had squeezed her, and gamed her, until, | |
| The fat of her face ran down like a mill, | |
| He toiled for the rest of the grist. | 90 |
| |
| In Sweat and in Dust having wasted the Day, | |
| They entered upon the last act of the play, | |
| The bride to her bed was conveyed, | |
| Where knee-deep each hand fell down to the ground, | |
| And in seeking the Garter much pleasure was found; | 95 |
| ’Twould have made a man’s arm have strayed. | |
| |
| This clutter o’er Clorinda lay, | |
| Half bedded, like the peeping day, | |
| Behind Olympus cap; | |
| Whilst at her Head each twittering Girl, | 100 |
| The fatal Stocking quick did whirl, | |
| To know the lucky hap. | |
| |
| The Bridegroom in at last did rustle, | |
| All disappointed in the bustle, | |
| The Maidens had shaved his breeches, | 105 |
| But let us not complain, ’tis well, | |
| In such a storm I can you tell, | |
| He saved his other stitches. | |
| |
| And now he bounced into the Bed, | |
| Even just as if a man had said, | 110 |
| Fair Lady, have at all; | |
| Where twisted at the Hug they lay, | |
| Like Venus and the sprightly Boy, | |
| O! who would fear the Fall? | |
| |
| Thus both with Love’s sweet Taper fired, | 115 |
| And thousand balmy kisses tired, | |
| They could not wait the rest; | |
| But out the folk and Candles fled, | |
| And to’t they went, and what they did, | |
| There lies the Cream o’ the jest. | 120 |
| |
