English poem
On the D—ss of R—d
by Anonymous
What do scholars, and bards, and astronomers wife, Mean by stuffing our heads with nonsense and lies; By telling us Venus must always appear In a car, or a shell, or a twinkling star; Drawn by sparrows, or swans, or dolphins, or doves, Attended in form by the graces and loves: That ambrosia and nectar is all she will taste, And her passport to hearts on a belt round her waist?
Without all this bustle I saw the bright dame, To supper last night to P—y's she came In a good warm sedan; no fine open car; Two chairmen her doves, and a flambeau her star; No nectar she drank, no ambrosia she eat; Her cup was plain claret, a chicken her meat: Nor wanted a cestus her bosom to grace, For R—d, that night, had lent her her face.
More by Anonymous
- On the Death of Dr. Parne, Fellow of Trin. Col. Cam
- On the Death of Miss W
- On the DEATH of the amiable Lieutenant YEATES, who fell at the battle of Princeton
- On the Dutchess of Portsmouth
- On the First Fit of the Gout
- On the First of February. Being the Birth-day of a Beautiful Young Lady
- On the Folly of Atheism
- On the Forbiddance of GAY's Second Part of the Beggar's Opera, and the Damnation of CIBBER's Love in a Riddle