Classic Poem

 But how now fisking Muse, again a straying?
Let's back to Hero , who as I was saying
Did lead the dumpish Rout, which 'twas suspitious
Whether to her, or to the Day officious:
For some, 'tis sure, scorning the Gods to flatter,
But 'cause she went before to Church, went a'ter.
So if the Gods good Houses have resort,
Our mortal Goddesses they may thank for't.
But she minding her Grief, or Pride to chear
Their drooping Hearts, refus'd, but with a Lear,
And when but each the other 'gan to justle,
And only to come near her made a bustle,
Turn'd to 'um, yet with hanging Lip, and Frown,
T' assure 'um she wou'd not be blown upon.
So have I—but Comparisons are odious—
Yet tell not me; with Rhimes So is commodious;
So then as Hero have I seen the teasty
Proud paramour of the Heroick Masty,
Trot on in haste, and never deign to mind
Humble Addresses made to her behind ;
Unless, as with her Betters 'tis the fashion,
To snub, to snarl at, or snap up in passion.
Thus all Loves Mystery is jogging on,
And savage Mistresses must be run down.

  Leander knew't, and therefore did not falter,
In's Course, but chas'd fair Murd'ress to the Altar,
Where a la Negligence Dame Venus loll'd,
And Supplicants with smerking Looks cajol'd.
But if some medling Gossip should ask why,
As ev'ry other watchful Deity
She in her Temple did not stand upright?
In t'other Posture sure she took delight,
Above them all; nor was her comely Mold
Of Marble fram'd, obdurate still, and cold,
But willing Wax, whose Nature did express
The complaisant, and gentle Goddesses.
Nor did she, as all other heav'nly Fo'ke,
Put Mortals to the charge of Veil, or Frock;
Mortals, whose blind Zeal so the Gods blaspheme,
Imputing to their spotless Worships shame:
She graciously shew'd all; and did provoke
To Adoration the most frozen Stock.
The little Ape her Son, with Bow unbent
(Like Shock that guards the Toes of Monument)
Lay at her Feet, but not to hold 'um, for
She like her self Compulsion did abhor.

 As on the Chappel walls it oft appear'd,
Which Dawber without Pencil had besmear'd
With artful Scratches; and in smutty Scores
Of Charcole, smutty Doings, or Amours
Of Gods laid open but in manner ampler;
Than in Madam Arachnes bawdy Sampler.
Nay, sure they were the Types, Hints, or Instructions
To Aretine 's pathetical Productions,
The modest Aretine ; for none of those
Was he, whose Art on Nature doth impose:
Pragmatick saucy Slaves! who take upon 'um
To teach their Dame, they might as well their Grannum;
And with Mechanick Drapery do hide
But their own Botches, and frank Nature's pride,
At least unreas'nably from Neck do stretch
White Hankerchief to cover whiter Breech,
And for the naked Nymphs, of their own Locks
Contrive 'um Aprons, Petticoats, and Smocks:
But Apron sure not one of them must lack,
Though the poor Slut hath ne're a Rag to'r Back.
For they to any thing will run o'th' score,
Rather than Nymph shou'd Facing want before.
They'll pluck Loves Wings, and tear his Clout from's eyes,
Take Satyrs Beard, Fawns Scut, so mak't appear
Like Russians Cap, or Frizlanders Montier;
Take Monkeys tickling Paw, or Ear of Dazy,
While four-leg'd Favourite in Lap is lazy;
But Aretine not so——
He complaisant to Nature, and to Female,
Alloweth her no Covering, but the Male:
And precious things of Man doth only hide
In Cabinet which Nature did provide.
But Virgin who perhaps may'st long to know
What on these Walls the Gods did seem to do,
Faith I do beg thy pardon, for 'tis certain
I've been too long in drawing of the Curtain:
Yet I might hope, ev'n Patience Feminine
Wou'd stay the praising of great Aretine .

 First Jove , the surly Master of the Fam'ly
Had left off's Thunder, and there look'd so tamely,—
Away he turn'd his feather'd Steed, for hark ye,
His Eagle was not hatch'd of Tuscan Turkey
Therefore he in her stead did then bestride
A plump young Goldy-lock call'd Ganimed ;
Which though perform'd most slyly under Cloak,
Made of the thickest of Ætherial Smoak,
He there was found out by his restless Juno ,
(The Jealous have but little Sleep, as you know)
Mad at the sight, her blue-thin-lip she bit,
And tore her Smock from Navel down to'r Feet:
So shew'd her own, and Husbands discontent,
Which made him leave her, and his high-built Palace,
To seek him to his heav'nly Gusts a Lass,
And if he had not, he had been to blame,
To lie still with his Sister was a shame.
To th' whoring Earth incognito he goes,
But not, as Gallants now, with Cloak o're Nose;
The Habit of a Town-bull there he took,
Not to bear yoke, but ramping Nymph o're Brook;
So Bow must bend (as Cupid makes it out)
Ere the aim'd Arrow can come near the Clout;
And all but Whore, and Widow Amazon ,
By sneaking, and submission still are won.

 In the next place th' immortal Bullock did
Gore his dear Heifer Io till she bled.
Then was he seen in shining Coat of Mail
Of Guinnys, Danae 's Fortress to assail;
Meer Whore who till she was greas'd in the Fist,
Was always devilish streight about the Twist.
Then Lœda he appeared to trapan,
Who taking him but for a Goose or Swan,
Lay still like Stock; till she perceiv'd him Man.
Next with Asteria he did seem to struggle,
And you may swear he made not the spread Eagle.
But yet in all his Sport, his Royal Dame
Was but an envious Looker on o'th' Game.
With her he did not deal a single Bout;
For Wrangler, or for Wife she was shut out.

 The heav'nly Russian next, as stout as he's,
Was brought by naked Venus on his Knees:
Hers, and her Husband's Pris'ner, for a Grate
He made for warlike Bum to look out at.
O Subtilty of thinking Cuckolds Brains,
Who still blow up themselves with their own Trains!
Vulcan , thou only did'st a Fault proclaim,
Of which thou only wer't to bear the Shame.

 In the next place the Queen of Sluts alone is
With dainty, fine, Hober-de-hoy, Adonis ,
Who for his part much rather wou'd have bin
A setting Springes, laying Snare, or Gin,
Than lie a Pris'ner in a Female Trap,
Or irksom Pitfal of a Womans Lap.
Yet from her for his Heart he cou'd not flirt,
Sh'ad better hold, than by the tail of Shirt.

  Apollo then in Shepherd's Calves-skin Sute
(As Francion ) taught a Wench to play o'th' Lute.

  Neptune like Sea-Calf next, upon a Bed
Of Sedges, got Æolian Maidenhead.

 Then nimming Mercury with his sly Art,
Goes the next way to steal a Maiden's Heart,
With Nature's Picklock opening Virgin Chest,
Where still the more is robb'd, the less is mist.

 Then Saturn whom time almost made a Guelding,
To get a manly Fole, leap'd kicking Helding.

 The Wood-Gods all appear'd in Dells and Ditches,
A clapping of some Ramping Wenches Breeches;
And here and there a two-legg'd Goat, a rutting
With little Sluts that thither came a nutting.
Or while in private Shades the Nymphs lay snug,
Kind Satyrs cover'd them with living Rug.
And lest they for their scratching Dame should whoop,
They with their Tongues and Beards their mouths did stop.