The Works of Dr. Jonathan Swift ...

Never did Covent-garden boaft
So bright a batter'd strolling toalt!
No druken rake to pick her up,
No cellar, where on tick to sup;
Returning at the midnight-hour,
Four stories climbing to her bow'r ;
Then feated on a three-legg'd chair,
Takes off her artificial hair.
Now picking out a crystal eye,
She wipes it clean, and lays it by.
Her eyebrows from a mouse's hide
Stuck on with art on either side,
Pulls off with care, and first displays 'em,
Then in a play-book smoothly lays 'em.
Now dextrously her plumpers draws,
That serve to fill her hollow jaws.
Untwists a wire, and from her gums
A fet of teeth completely comes.
Pulls out the rags contriv'd to prop
Her flabby dugs, and down they drop.

* This poem, for which some have thought no apology could be offered, deserves, on the contrary, great commendation; as it much mon forcibly restrains the thoughtless and the young from the risk of health and life, by picking up a prostitute, than the finest declamation on the fordidness of the appetite. Hawkes. VOL. VII.

Proceeding on, the lovely goddess
Unlaces next her steel-ribb'd bodice,
Which, by the operator's skill,
Press down the lumps, the hollows fill.
Up goes her hand, and off the slips

The bolsters that fupply her hips.
With gentlest touch the next explores
Her shancres, issues, running fores;

30
Effects of many a sad disaster,
And then to each applies a plaister:
But must, before she goes to bed,
Rub off the daubs of white and red,
And smooth the furrows in her front

35
With greasy paper stuck upon't.
She takes a bolus ere she sleeps;
And then between two blankets creeps.
With pains of love tormented lies ;
Or if the chance to close her eyes,

40
Of Bridewell and the Compter dreams,
And feels the lash, and faintly screams;
Or by a faithless bully drawn,
At some hedge tavern lies in pawn;
Or to Jamaica seems transported

45
Alone *, and by no planter courted;
Or, near Fleet-ditch's oozy brinks,
Surrounded with a hundred stinks,
Belated, seems on watch to lie,
And snap some cully passing by ;
Or, struck with fear, her fancy runs
On watchmen, conftables, and duns,
From whom she meets with frequent rubs ;
But never from religious clubs;
Whose favour she is sure to find,

55 Because she pays them all in kind,

Et longam incomitata videtur

Ire viam,

-Virg.

CORINNA wakes. A dreadful fight!
Behold the ruins of the night!
A wicked rat her plaifter stole,
Half eat, and draggd it to his hole.
The cryftal eye, alas ! was miss’d;
And pufs had on her plumpers -- ss'd.
A pigeon pick'd her issue-peas :
And shock her treffes fill'd with fleas.

The nymph, tho' in this mangled plight,
Muft ev'ry morn her limbs unite.
But how shall I describe her arts
To recollect the fcatter'd parts?
Or shew the anguish, toil, and pain,
Of gath'ring op herself again?
The bashful muse will never bear
In such a scene to interfere.
Corinna in the morning dizen'd,
Who sees, will spue; who smells, be poison d.

STRE PHON and CHLOE *.

Written in the year 1731. OF

Chloe all the town has rung,

By ev'ry Gize of poets sung:
So beautiful a nymph appears
But once in twenty thousand years ;
By nature form'd with nicest care,

5 And faultless to a single hair.

* This poem has among others been censured for in delicacy; but with no better reason than a medicine would be rejected for its ill taste. By attending to the marriage of Strephon and Chloe, the reader is necessarily led to consider the effect of that gross familiarity in which it is to be feared many married persons think they have a right to indulge themselves : he who is disgusted.at the picture, feels the force of the precept, not to disgust another by his practice: and let it never be forgotten, that nothing quenches desire like indelicacy; and that when desire has been ibus quenched, kindness will inevitably grow cold. Hawkef.

Her graceful mien, her shape, and face,
Confess'd her of no mortal race :
And then so nice, and so genteel;
Such cleanliness from head to heel :
No humours gross, or frowzy fteams,
No noisome whiffs, or sweaty streams,
Before, behind, above, below,
Could from her taintless body flow:
Would fo discreetly things dispose,
None ever faw her pluck a rose.
Her deareft comrades never caught her
Squat on her hams, to make maid's water.
You'd swear that fo divine a creature
Felt no necessities of nature.
In summer had she walk'd the town,
Her armpits would not stain her gown :
At country-dances not a nose
Could in the dog-days smell her toes.
Her milk-white hands, both palms and backs,
Like iv'ry dry, and soft as wax.
Her hands, the softest ever felt,
Tho'cold would burn, tho' dry would melt t.

Dear Venus, hide this wondrous maid,
Nor let her loose to spoil your trade.
While she ingrosses ev'ry swain,
You but o'er half the world can reign.
Think what a case all men are now in,
What ogling, sigbing, toasting, vowing !
What powder'd wigs! what Hames and darts!
What hampers full of bleeding hearts !
What Sword-knots ! what poetic strains !
What billet-doux, and clouded canes!

But Strephon figh'd so loud and strong,
He blew a settlement along;

$ Though deep, yet clear, Gr. Denbam.

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