 | Songs, comic and satyrical |  |
BEAUME DE VIE.
Ariadne
one morning to Theseus was turning,
When missing her man, to the beach down she flew;
Her cries unavailing, she saw far off, sailing,
His ship 'fore the wind less'ning swift to her view;
She tore her fine hair, beat her breast in despair,
Spread her arms to the skies, and sunk down in a swoon,
When Bacchus, 'midst Æther, begg'd leave of his father
To comfort the lady, Jove granted the boon.
When missing her man, to the beach down she flew;
Her cries unavailing, she saw far off, sailing,
His ship 'fore the wind less'ning swift to her view;
She tore her fine hair, beat her breast in despair,
Spread her arms to the skies, and sunk down in a swoon,
When Bacchus, 'midst Æther, begg'd leave of his father
To comfort the lady, Jove granted the boon.
Then gladly descending, her sorrows befriending,
His Thyrsis he struck 'gainst the big-belly'd earth,
When o'er the smooth gravel, in murmuring travel,
A spring of champaign at her head bubbled forth;
She, wak'd with the scent, gave her sorrow full vent,
Yet to drink was determin'd, exhausted by tears;
She tastes her champaign, licks her lips, tastes again,
And feels herself suddenly freed from her fears.
His Thyrsis he struck 'gainst the big-belly'd earth,
When o'er the smooth gravel, in murmuring travel,
A spring of champaign at her head bubbled forth;
She, wak'd with the scent, gave her sorrow full vent,
Yet to drink was determin'd, exhausted by tears;
She tastes her champaign, licks her lips, tastes again,
And feels herself suddenly freed from her fears.
As still she kept sipping, her heart lightly leaping,
She look'd upon Thes. as a pitiful elf;
Wine turn'd her to singing, in hopes it wou'd bring in
A lover,—'twas lonely to drink by herself:
The God, her adorer confess'd, stood before her,
She hail'd the celestial, she welcom'd the guest;
Champaign stopp'd resistance, she kept not her distance,
But jollily clasp'd the young buck to her breast.
She look'd upon Thes. as a pitiful elf;
Wine turn'd her to singing, in hopes it wou'd bring in
A lover,—'twas lonely to drink by herself:
The God, her adorer confess'd, stood before her,
She hail'd the celestial, she welcom'd the guest;
Champaign stopp'd resistance, she kept not her distance,
But jollily clasp'd the young buck to her breast.
126
Each girl given over, betray'd by her lover,
To hartshorn, to salts, or salt-water may fly;
But we've an elixir will properly fix her,
If properly she'll the prescription apply:
The recipe's wholsome, 'tis Beauty's best Balsam,
For which we refuse though to pocket a see.
As gratis we give it, girls grateful receive it,
So here's to the practice of Love's Beaume de Vie.
To hartshorn, to salts, or salt-water may fly;
But we've an elixir will properly fix her,
If properly she'll the prescription apply:
The recipe's wholsome, 'tis Beauty's best Balsam,
For which we refuse though to pocket a see.
As gratis we give it, girls grateful receive it,
So here's to the practice of Love's Beaume de Vie.
| Songs, comic and satyrical | |