Jonathan Swift
A Beautiful Young Nymph Going to Bed
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. | ||
First published 1734
Robert Clark