Bouts Rimez[1]

ON SIGNORA DOMITILLA Our schoolmaster may roar i' th' fit, Of classic beauty, haec et illa; Not all his birch inspires such wit As th'ogling beams of Domitilla. Let nobles toast, in bright champaign, Nymphs higher born than Domitilla; I'll drink her health, again, again, In Berkeley's tar, or sars'parilla. At Goodman's Fields I've much admired The postures strange of Monsieur Brilla; But what are they to the soft step, The gliding air of Domitilla? Virgil has eternized in song The flying footsteps of Camilla; Sure, as a prophet, he was wrong; He might have dream'd of Domitilla. Great Theodose condemn'd a town For thinking ill of his Placilla: And deuce take London! if some knight O' th' city wed not Domitilla. Wheeler, Sir George, in travels wise, Gives us a medal of Plantilla; But O! the empress has not eyes, Nor lips, nor breast, like Domitilla. Not all the wealth of plunder'd Italy, Piled on the mules of king At-tila, Is worth one glove (I'll not tell a bit a lie) Or garter, snatch'd from Domitilla. Five years a nymph at certain hamlet, Y-cleped Harrow of the Hill, a- —bused much my heart, and was a damn'd let To verse—but now for Domitilla. Dan Pope consigns Belinda's watch To the fair sylphid Momentilla, And thus I offer up my catch To the snow-white hands of Domitilla.