| | | Written For The Honour Of The Fair Sex |
| | | |
| | | Corinna, pride of Drury Lane, |
| | | For whom no shepherd sighs in vain, |
| | | Never did Covent Garden boast |
| | | So bright a battered, strolling toast; |
| 5 | | No drunken rake to pick her up, |
| | | No cellar where on tick to sup; |
| | | Returning at the midnight hour; |
| | | Four storeys climbing to her bower; |
| | | Then, seated on a three-legged chair, |
| 10 | | 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, |
| 15 | | Pulls off with care, and first displays ’em, |
| | | Then in a play-book smoothly lays ’em |
| | | Now dexterously her plumpers draws, |
| | | That serve to fill her hollow jaws. |
| | | Untwists a wire; and from her gums |
| 20 | | A set of teeth completely comes. |
| | | Pulls out the rags contrived to prop |
| | | Her flabby dugs, and down they drop. |
| | | Proceeding on, the lovely goddess |
| | | Unlaces next her steel-ribbed bodice; |
| 25 | | Which by the operator’s skill, |
| | | Press down the lumps, the hollows fill. |
| | | Up goes her hand, and off she slips |
| | | The bolsters that supply her hips. |
| | | With gentlest touch, she next explores |
| 30 | | Her shankers, issues, running sores; |
| | | Effects of many a sad disaster, |
| | | And then to each applies a plaster. |
| | | But must, before she goes to bed, |
| | | Rub off the daubs of white and red. |
| 35 | | And smooth the furrows in her front, |
| | | With greasy paper stuck upon’t. |
| | | She takes a bolus e’er she sleeps; |
| | | And then between two blankets creeps. |
| | | With pains of love tormented lies; |
| 40 | | Or if she chance to close her eyes, |
| | | 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 |
| 45 | | Or to Jamaica seems transported, |
| | | Alone, and by no planter courted; |
| | | Or, near Fleet Ditch’s oozy brinks, |
| | | Surrounded with a hundred stinks, |
| | | Belated, seems on watch to lie, |
| 50 | | And snap some cully passing by; |
| | | Or, struck with fear, her fancy runs |
| | | On watchmen, constables and duns, |
| | | From whom she meets with frequent rubs; |
| | | But, never from religious clubs; |
| 55 | | Whose favour she is sure to find, |
| | | Because she pays them all in kind. |
| | | Corinna wakes. A dreadful sight! |
| | | Behold the ruins of the night! |
| | | A wicked rat her plaster stole, |
| 60 | | Half ate, and dragged it to his hole. |
| | | The crystal eye, alas, was missed; |
| | | And Puss had on her plumpers pissed. |
| | | A pigeon picked her issue-peas, |
| | | And Shock her tresses filled with fleas. |
| 65 | | The nymph, though in this mangled plight, |
| | | Must every morn her limbs unite. |
| | | But how shall I describe her arts |
| | | To recollect the scattered parts? |
| | | Or show the anguish, toil, and pain, |
| 70 | | Of gathering up herself again? |
| | | The bashful muse will never bear |
| | | In such a scene to interfere. |
| | | Corinna in the morning dizened, |
| | | Who sees, will spew; who smells, be poisoned. |
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First published 1734.
Contributed by Robert Clark.
