matter, And help the ill-scent with
your orange flower water; But when you've done all, 'tis but playing
the fool, And like stifling a T—-d, in a cedar close stool: Besides,
Gods of judgment have often confest That the natural scent without art
is the best." The Goddesses all, at these sayings, took snuff, And rose
from their seats in a damnable huff: Their frowns and their blushes,
they mingled together, And went off in a passion, I do not know
hither.
"Here's another fine burlesque poem I'll read, if you don't mind,"
continued Frank, "it's called 'Vulcan and Venus.'"
VULCAN AND VENUS
Says Vulcan to Venus, "Pray where have you been?" "Abroad," cries the
Goddess, "to see and be seen." "I fear," says the blacksmith, "you lead
an ill life, Tho' a Goddess, I doubt you're a bitch of a wife." "Why,
how now," cries Venus, "altho' you're my spouse, If you bitch me, you
brute, have a care of your brows; Why sure you don't think, I, the
Goddess of Beauty, By dint of ill language, will prove the more true
t'ye; Be civil, you'd best, or I vow by my placket, I'll make the god
Mars bastinado your jacket!" "Are you there with your bears?" Smung
replies to his Hussey. "Does Mars still refresh your old Furbilo, does
he; I feel by my forehead a coat that is scarlet, Of all kinds of
baits, is the best for a harlot; For beauty, I find, as 'tis commonly
said, Will nibble like fish at a rag that is red; But Hussey, tell me
any more of your Mars, And I'll run a hot bar in your Goddesship's
arse; I fear not your threats, there's a fart for your bully, No whore
in the Heavens shall make me her cully!" "You run a hot bar in my bum,"
quoth the dame, "Its a sign you've a mighty respect for the same; If
your love be so little as to abuse it, I'll keep it for those who know
better to use it; I'm certain no Goddess that values her honour, Would
bear the indignities you put upon her, And not from that minute resolve
out of spite, To improve your old horns till they hang in your light."
"You're an impudent slut," cries the smung at his bellows, "And I the
unhappiest of all marry'd fellows: I know you have made me a ram, I
have seen it, I catch'd you, you Whore, in the critical minute, Fast
lock'd in the arms of your lecherous God, Whilst his brawny posteriors
went niddity nod; And you, like a Slut, lay as pleased and contented,
As if every joint of your body consented; Altho' when you found you
were spy'd by your buck, Then you struggl'd and strove like a pig that
is stuck, And dismounting your God, would have made your escape, But I
saw by your actions it could be no rape; Tho' when you first heard, by
my patting-shoe tread, My approach to your Whoreship's adulterous bed,
I know you'd have flown with your coats and your bodice, And afterwards
vow'd 'twas some other lewd Goddess; But my net was too strong, it
prevented your flying, And so put a stop to your swearing and lying.
Besides, that the Gods might behold what a Slut Of a Beautiful Queen
they amongst them had got, I call'd 'em about, that their Honours might
stand, And be pimps to your Goddesship's bus'ness in hand, That in case
you the truth shou'd hereafter deny, I might call the whole Heavens to
witness you lie." "And what did you get?" cries the amorous dame, "For
the pains that you took, but a Cuckoldy Name; 'Tis true you're
confirmed you've a Whore for your wife, Pray is that any comfort or
ease to your life; And have made it appear to the Gods as a jest, That
your wife's reputation is none of the best; Does that make your labour
more easy or sweet, Or give you more gust to your drink or your meat?
'Tis true, you are fam'd for the net you have made, Pray what did you
catch in't but horns for your head; You know that your rival don't
value a trap, Or a net, any more than a child or a clap; A soldier is
never asham'd of his vices, But rather is proud of a Goddess's kisses;
And thinks it adds more to a hero's renown, To subdue a fair lady than
conquer a town; Your spite must be therefore
your orange flower water; But when you've done all, 'tis but playing
the fool, And like stifling a T—-d, in a cedar close stool: Besides,
Gods of judgment have often confest That the natural scent without art
is the best." The Goddesses all, at these sayings, took snuff, And rose
from their seats in a damnable huff: Their frowns and their blushes,
they mingled together, And went off in a passion, I do not know
hither.
"Here's another fine burlesque poem I'll read, if you don't mind,"
continued Frank, "it's called 'Vulcan and Venus.'"
VULCAN AND VENUS
Says Vulcan to Venus, "Pray where have you been?" "Abroad," cries the
Goddess, "to see and be seen." "I fear," says the blacksmith, "you lead
an ill life, Tho' a Goddess, I doubt you're a bitch of a wife." "Why,
how now," cries Venus, "altho' you're my spouse, If you bitch me, you
brute, have a care of your brows; Why sure you don't think, I, the
Goddess of Beauty, By dint of ill language, will prove the more true
t'ye; Be civil, you'd best, or I vow by my placket, I'll make the god
Mars bastinado your jacket!" "Are you there with your bears?" Smung
replies to his Hussey. "Does Mars still refresh your old Furbilo, does
he; I feel by my forehead a coat that is scarlet, Of all kinds of
baits, is the best for a harlot; For beauty, I find, as 'tis commonly
said, Will nibble like fish at a rag that is red; But Hussey, tell me
any more of your Mars, And I'll run a hot bar in your Goddesship's
arse; I fear not your threats, there's a fart for your bully, No whore
in the Heavens shall make me her cully!" "You run a hot bar in my bum,"
quoth the dame, "Its a sign you've a mighty respect for the same; If
your love be so little as to abuse it, I'll keep it for those who know
better to use it; I'm certain no Goddess that values her honour, Would
bear the indignities you put upon her, And not from that minute resolve
out of spite, To improve your old horns till they hang in your light."
"You're an impudent slut," cries the smung at his bellows, "And I the
unhappiest of all marry'd fellows: I know you have made me a ram, I
have seen it, I catch'd you, you Whore, in the critical minute, Fast
lock'd in the arms of your lecherous God, Whilst his brawny posteriors
went niddity nod; And you, like a Slut, lay as pleased and contented,
As if every joint of your body consented; Altho' when you found you
were spy'd by your buck, Then you struggl'd and strove like a pig that
is stuck, And dismounting your God, would have made your escape, But I
saw by your actions it could be no rape; Tho' when you first heard, by
my patting-shoe tread, My approach to your Whoreship's adulterous bed,
I know you'd have flown with your coats and your bodice, And afterwards
vow'd 'twas some other lewd Goddess; But my net was too strong, it
prevented your flying, And so put a stop to your swearing and lying.
Besides, that the Gods might behold what a Slut Of a Beautiful Queen
they amongst them had got, I call'd 'em about, that their Honours might
stand, And be pimps to your Goddesship's bus'ness in hand, That in case
you the truth shou'd hereafter deny, I might call the whole Heavens to
witness you lie." "And what did you get?" cries the amorous dame, "For
the pains that you took, but a Cuckoldy Name; 'Tis true you're
confirmed you've a Whore for your wife, Pray is that any comfort or
ease to your life; And have made it appear to the Gods as a jest, That
your wife's reputation is none of the best; Does that make your labour
more easy or sweet, Or give you more gust to your drink or your meat?
'Tis true, you are fam'd for the net you have made, Pray what did you
catch in't but horns for your head; You know that your rival don't
value a trap, Or a net, any more than a child or a clap; A soldier is
never asham'd of his vices, But rather is proud of a Goddess's kisses;
And thinks it adds more to a hero's renown, To subdue a fair lady than
conquer a town; Your spite must be therefore
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