Song V. the Picture

Wishing well to good folks, both on this and that, By my own fire-side, with my Lass, Not yawning, nor mute, but in spiritful chat, To Old England I took off my glass.

The next to my King; and the third was a Joke, Of all places I toasted The Best; She seem'd not to hear, but her cheeks blushes spoke The Wanton my Sentiment guess'd.

Her bosom I press'd, to my lips it arose, The crimson still flushing her face; With love-lisping laugh, she replied, "I suppose "You presume I can guess at the place."

I answer'd, but first for my Fee took a Kiss, "Where the Temple of Love we attend. "Beauty's columns begin at the Fountain of Bliss; "In tapering outlines they end.

"On the top, at the Arch of Enjoyment unite, "Curl'd tendrils the Pediment grace; "For Cupid's Pantheon, the Shaft of Delight "Must spring from the Masculine Base.

"If the Lady of this perfect Mansion you'll see," As I spoke, gave my hand to the Lass, "Oh, by all means" she said;—"then my dear come with me;" So I led my Girl up to the glass.

Off she turn'd, with a pshah! yet no anger exprest, Good-breeding scorns Prudery's skreen; 'Mong our dinner-time toasts, when we drink to the Best, We only most excellent mean.

Remember, my Bucks, when you're aiming at Jokes Be sure make the most of a Jest; Not like the assembly of impotent folks, Who prove themselves, — bad at the best.

Our Youths in their waists are now scarcely a span, An insensible, expletive crew; When Loveliness weds one, in hopes of a Man, 'Tis the worst thing a Lady can do.

Here's to Beauty a Toast, sir, but not Face alone, Lower yet lies the Circle of Grace; Beneath, where in centre Love buckles her Zone, The Point of Attraction we place.

Let our Bottles, like globes, have elliptical sweep; Geometrists mind what I say, May beautiful Parallels distances keep, To give Perpendiculars way.