Classic Poem

DEAR Molly, who art the best comingest lass,
With a foot not so big as the slipper of brass,
Or as hers, whom a wag, strangely gifting with wrong clo'es,
Calls, most unbecomingly, Ninon de Long-clo'es,
(Of whom 'tis recorded, that in a ragoat
Some young men of fashion once tossed up her shoe),
Take a story that came in my head t'other day,
As writing a libel, all careless I lay,
So good-natured am I, and soon carried away.

You must know, that 'twas after a day of much flight,
The feathered god Mercury got home one night:
He took off his winged hat, flagging with dews,
And shook off as quickly his two winged shoes:
And ringing for Hebe, said, " Starlights and nectar;
And go and tell Venus, you rogue, I expect her."
So saying, he threw his light legs up together,
And stretched, half-reclined, on his couch of dove's feather,
And taking his lute up, and thumbing, and humming,
Was about to sing something to hasten her coming,
When lo! the two shoes that I spoke of, instead
Of departing, as usual, like pigeons, to bed,
Began flutt'ring and making genteel indications
Of delicate feelings and nice hesitations,
And then walking forward, stood still, rather wide,
When the one drew his heel to the other's inside,
And suggesting a bow (for it well may be said,
You can't make a bow without having a head)
Told the god with a sigh, which they meant to go through him,
That they had, if he pleased, a small prayer to make to him.

" How now!" said the God, " what, my shoes grown pathetic!
This indeed's a new turn of the peripatetic.
What's the matter, my friends? Why this bowing and blushing?
Has Ganymede given you too careless a brushing?
Do you ache yet from Jupiter's tread on your toes,
When I spoke, before Juno, of Chloris's nose?
O F does she keep charge of his pen and ink still,
And force him to borrow another new quill?"

" No: nothing of all this, dear master," said they;
" But the fact is, — the fact is — " " Well, what is it, pray?"
" Why, you know, Sir, our natures partake of the dove,
And in fact, Sir — in short, Sir, — we've fallen in love."

" In love! and with what, pray? With Rhodope's shoes?
Or with Rhodope's self?" cried the god at this news.
" I have heard of shoes " doated on " , during a fashion,
But never of any returning the passion."

" We beg, Sir," said they, that you wouldn't chagrin us:
Who, or what could it be, but the feet of your Venus?
To see them, to touch them, and yet be heart-whole,
How could we, yet have understanding and soul?
When we heard, t'other day, that dog Momus object,
For want of a fault in 'em, that her shoes creak'd,
We could fairly have jump'd at the rascal, and kick'd:
And so, Sir, we have to request, that whenever
We're not upon duty, you'll do us the favour
Of letting us wait on those charmers so little,
To which Thetis's silver are surely queen's-metal.
The soft-going sandals of Rhetoric's god
Will make her move always as loveliness should;
Will put a perfection, Sir, into her shoe-tye,
And give the last lift to her exquisite beauty."

" Be it so," replied Hermes; " but take care, you rogues;
Don't you keep her from me, or I'll turn you to clogs."

" We cannot, we cannot," cried they, " dearest master;
And to prove it at once, she shall come to you faster."

So saying, they rose, and skimmed out of the door,
Like a pair of white doves, when beginning to soar:
They met her half-way, and they flew to her feet,
Which they clasped in a flutter, the touch was so sweet;
And they bore her in silence, and kissed all the while
The feet of the queen of the beautiful smile;
And lo! in an instant, redoubled in charms,
The soft coming creature was pitched in his arms.