T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
Now That Loves Holiday Is Come
Anonymous(From Pills to Purge Melancholy, 1707) NOW that Love’s Holiday is come, | |
And Madge the Maid hath swept the room, | |
And trimmed her Spit and Pot; | |
Awake my merry Muse and Sing, | |
The Revels and that other thing, | 5 |
That must not be forgot. | |
As the gray Morning dawned, ’tis said, | |
Clorinda broke out of her bed, | |
Like Cynthia in her Pride, | |
Where all the Maiden Lights that were | 10 |
Comprised within our Hemisphere, | |
Attended at her side. | |
But wot you then, with much ado, | |
They dressed the Bride from top to toe! | |
And brought her from her Chamber: | 15 |
Decked in her Robes, and Garments gay, | |
More sumptuous than the live-long day, | |
Or Stars enshrined in Amber. | |
The sparkling bullies of her Eyes, | |
Like two Eclipsed Suns did rise, | 20 |
Beneath her Crystal brow; | |
To show, like those strange accidents, | |
Some sudden changeable events, | |
Were like to hap below. | |
Her cheeks bestreaked with white and red, | 25 |
Like pretty tell-tales of the bed, | |
Presaged the blust’ring night, | |
With his encircling arms and shade, | |
Resolved to swallow and invade, | |
And screen her virgin light. | 30 |
Her lips, those threads of Scarlet dye, | |
Wherein Love’s charms and quiver lie, | |
Legions of sweets did crown, | |
Which smilingly did seem to say, | |
O crop me! crop me! whilst you may, | 35 |
Anon they’re not mine own. | |
Her breasts, those melting Alps of snow; | |
On whose fair hills in open show, | |
The God of Love lay napping; | |
Like swelling Butts of lively wine, | 40 |
Upon their Ivory Tilts did shine, | |
To wait the lucky tapping. | |
Her waist, that tender type of man, | |
Was but a small and single span, | |
Yet I dare safely swear, | 45 |
He that whole thousands has in fee, | |
Would forfeit all, so he might be | |
Lord of the Manor there. | |
But now before I pass the line, | |
Pray, Reader, give me leave to dine, | 50 |
And pause here in the middle; | |
The Bridegroom and the Parson knock, | |
With all the Hymeneal flock, | |
The Plum-cake and the Fiddle. | |
Whenas the Priest Clarinda sees, | 55 |
He stared, as’t had been half his fees, | |
To gaze upon her face: | |
And if the spirit did not move, | |
His countenance was far above | |
Each sinner in the place. | 60 |
With mickle stir he joined their hands, | |
And hampered them in Marriage bands, | |
As fast as fast may be: | |
Where still methinks, methinks, I hear, | |
That secret sigh in ev’ry ear, | 65 |
Once, love, remember me. | |
Which done, the Cook he knockt amain, | |
And up the dishes in a train | |
Came smoking, two and two; | |
With that they wiped their Mouths and sate, | 70 |
Some fell to quaffing, some to prate, | |
Ay marry, and welcome too. | |
In pairs they thus impail’d the Meat, | |
Roger and Margaret, and Thomas and Kate, | |
Ralph and Bess, Andrew and Maudlin; | 75 |
And Valentine, eke with Sybil so sweet, | |
Whose Cheeks on each side of her Snuffers did meet, | |
As round and as plump as a Codling. | |
When at the last they had fetched their frees, | |
And mired their stomachs quite up to their knees | 80 |
In Claret and good Cheer; | |
Then, then began the merry din, | |
For as it was they were all on the pin, | |
O! what kissing and clipping was there. | |
But as Luck would have it, the Parson said grace, | 85 |
And to frisking and dancing they shuffled apace, | |
Each Lad took his Lass by the Fist, | |
And when he had squeezed her, and gamed her, until, | |
The fat of her face ran down like a mill, | |
He toiled for the rest of the grist. | 90 |
In Sweat and in Dust having wasted the Day, | |
They entered upon the last act of the play, | |
The bride to her bed was conveyed, | |
Where knee-deep each hand fell down to the ground, | |
And in seeking the Garter much pleasure was found; | 95 |
’Twould have made a man’s arm have strayed. | |
This clutter o’er Clorinda lay, | |
Half bedded, like the peeping day, | |
Behind Olympus cap; | |
Whilst at her Head each twittering Girl, | 100 |
The fatal Stocking quick did whirl, | |
To know the lucky hap. | |
The Bridegroom in at last did rustle, | |
All disappointed in the bustle, | |
The Maidens had shaved his breeches, | 105 |
But let us not complain, ’tis well, | |
In such a storm I can you tell, | |
He saved his other stitches. | |
And now he bounced into the Bed, | |
Even just as if a man had said, | 110 |
Fair Lady, have at all; | |
Where twisted at the Hug they lay, | |
Like Venus and the sprightly Boy, | |
O! who would fear the Fall? | |
Thus both with Love’s sweet Taper fired, | 115 |
And thousand balmy kisses tired, | |
They could not wait the rest; | |
But out the folk and Candles fled, | |
And to’t they went, and what they did, | |
There lies the Cream o’ the jest. | 120 |