T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
A New Ballad upon a Wedding
Anonymous(From Pills to Purge Melancholy, c. 1707) |
THE SLEEPING Thames one Morn I crossed, | |
By two contending Charons tost; | |
I Landed and I found, | |
By one of Neptune’s juggling Tricks, | |
Enchanted Thames was turned to Styx, | 5 |
Lambeth the Elysian Ground. | |
The Dirty Linkboy of the Day, | |
To make himself more fresh and gay, | |
Had spent five Hours, and more; | |
Scarce had he Combed and Curled his Hair, | 10 |
When out there comes a brighter Fair, | |
Eclipsed him o’er, and o’er. | |
The dazzled Boy would have retired, | |
But durst not, because he was hired, | |
To light the Purblind Skies; | 15 |
But all on Earth, will Swear and say, | |
They saw no other Sun that Day, | |
Nor Heav’n, but in her Eyes. | |
Her starry Eyes, both warm and shine, | |
And her dark Brows, do them enshrine, | 20 |
Like Love’s Triumphal Arch; | |
Their Firmament is Red and White, | |
Whilst the other Heaven is but bedight, | |
With Indigo and Starch. | |
Her Face a Civil War had bred, | 25 |
Betwixt the White Rose and the Red, | |
Then Troops of Blushes came; | |
And charged the White with might and main, | |
But stoutly were repulsed again, | |
Retreating back with shame. | 30 |
Long was the War, and sharp the Fight, | |
It lasted dubious until Night, | |
Which would to the other yield; | |
At last the Armies both stood still, | |
And left the Bridegroom at his Will, | 35 |
The Pillage of the Field. | |
But, oh, such Spoils! which to compare, | |
A Throne is but a rotten Chair, | |
And Scepters are but sticks; | |
The Crown itself, ’twere but a Bonnet, | 40 |
If her Possession lay upon it, | |
What Prince would not here fix. | |
Heaven’s Master-piece, Divinest frame, | |
That e’er was spoke of yet by Fame, | |
Rich Nature’s utmost Stage; | 45 |
The Harvest of all former years, | |
The past’s Disgrace, the future’s fears, | |
And glory of this Age. | |
Thus to the Parson’s Shop they trade, | |
And a slight Bargain there is made, | 50 |
To make Him her Supreme; | |
The Angels perched about her Light, | |
And Saints themselves had Appetite, | |
But I will not Blaspheme. | |
The Parson did his Conscience ask, | 55 |
If he were fit for such a Task, | |
And could perform his Duty; | |
Then straight the Man put on the Ring, | |
The Emblem of another thing, | |
When strength is joined to Beauty. | 60 |
A modest Cloud her Face invades, | |
And wraps it up in Sarsnet Shades, | |
While thus they mingle Hands; | |
And then she was obliged to say, | |
Those Bug-bear Words, Love and Obey, | 65 |
But meant her own Commands. | |
The envious Maids looked round about, | |
To see what One would take them out, | |
To terminate their Pains; | |
For tho’ they Covet, and are Cross, | 70 |
Yet still they value more one Loss, | |
Than many Thousand Gains. | |
Knights of the Garter, two were Called, | |
Knights of the Shoe-string, two installed, | |
And all were bound by Oath; | 75 |
No further than the Knee to pass, | |
But oh! the Squire of the Body was | |
A better place than both. | |
A tedious Feast protracts the time, | |
For eating now, was but a Crime, | 80 |
And all that interposed; | |
For like two Duellists they stood, | |
Panting for one another’s Blood, | |
And longing till they closed. | |
Then came the Jovial Music in, | 85 |
And many a merry Violin, | |
That Life and Soul of Legs; | |
Th’ impatient Bridegroom would not stay, | |
Good Sir, cry they, what Man can play, | |
Till he’s wound up his pegs. | 90 |
But then he Dances till he reels, | |
For Love and Joy had Winged his Heels, | |
And puts the Hours to flight; | |
He leapt and skipt, and seemed to say, | |
Come Boys, I’ll drive away the Day, | 95 |
And shake away the Night. | |
The lovely Bride, with Murdering Arts, | |
Walks round, and Brandishes her Darts, | |
To give the deeper Wound; | |
Her Beauteous Fabric, with such grace, | 100 |
Ensnares a Heart, at every pace, | |
And Kills at each rebound. | |
She glides as if there were no Ground, | |
And slily draws her Nets around, | |
Her Lime-twigs are her Kisses; | 105 |
Then makes a Curtsie with a Glance, | |
And strikes each Lover in a Trance, | |
That Arrow never misses. | |
Thus have I oft a Hobby seen, | |
Daring of Larks over a Green, | 110 |
His fierce occasion tarry; | |
Dances about them as they fly, | |
And gives them sport before they Die, | |
Then stoops and Kills the Quarry. | |
Her Sweat, like Honey-drops did fall, | 115 |
And Stings of Beauty pierced us all, | |
Her shape was so exact; | |
Of Wax she seemed framed alive, | |
But had her Gown too been a Hive, | |
How Bees had thither flocked. | 120 |
Thus envious Time prolonged the Day, | |
And stretched the Prologue to the Play, | |
Long stopped the sluggish Watch; | |
At last a Voice came from above, | |
Which called the Bridegroom and his Love, | 125 |
To Consummate the Match. | |
But (as if Heav’n would it retard) | |
A Banquet comes, like the Night-Guard, | |
Which stayed them half the Night; | |
The Bridegroom then with’s Men retired, | 130 |
The Train was laying to be fired, | |
He went his Match to light. | |
When he returned, his Hopes was crowned, | |
An Angel in the Bed he found, | |
So glorious was her Face; | 135 |
Amazed he stopt —— but then, quoth He, | |
Tho’ ’tis an Angel, ’tis a She, | |
And leaped into his Place. | |
Thus lay the Man with Heav’n in’s Arms, | |
Blessed with a Thousand pleasing Charms, | 140 |
In Raptures of Delight; | |
Reaping at once, and Sowing Joys, | |
For Beauty’s Manna never cloys, | |
Nor fills the Appetite. | |
But what was done, sure was no more, | 145 |
Than that which had been done before, | |
When she her self was Made; | |
Something was lost, which none found out, | |
And He that had it could not shew’t, | |
Sure ’tis a Juggling Trade. | 150 |