Mac-Dermot or the Irish Fortune-Hunter. A poem. In Six Canto's. By the Author of the Art of Dress [i.e. J. D. Breval] |
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| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
Canto IV.
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| V. |
| VI. |
 | Mac-Dermot |  |
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Canto IV.
Among the beauteous Nymphs of all Degrees,
Who at the Beldam's sought their Pains to ease;
And to the well known Haunt repair'd unseen,
To drink their Bottle, and divert the Spleen,
A buxom, black Ey'd Widow bore the Bell,
Whose Name was Rosaline, as Authors tell.
Who at the Beldam's sought their Pains to ease;
And to the well known Haunt repair'd unseen,
To drink their Bottle, and divert the Spleen,
A buxom, black Ey'd Widow bore the Bell,
Whose Name was Rosaline, as Authors tell.
A rich old Dotard had enjoy'd her Bloom,
Who now, she thank'd her Stars, was in his Tomb;
Of City kind, more opulent than wise,
And from a Hundred Rivals bore the Prize;
The Cit three Winters since dy'd worth his Plumb,
And left her little less than half the Sum.
Who now, she thank'd her Stars, was in his Tomb;
Of City kind, more opulent than wise,
And from a Hundred Rivals bore the Prize;
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And left her little less than half the Sum.
With Coach and Six this Widow liv'd in State,
Had store of Jewels, Tallies, Bills, and Plate;
Much in the Bank, and much in South-Sea-Stock,
Nor Chick, nor Child; but one poor darling Shock.
Had store of Jewels, Tallies, Bills, and Plate;
Much in the Bank, and much in South-Sea-Stock,
Nor Chick, nor Child; but one poor darling Shock.
Sometime had she frequented this Abode,
Yet in her Eyes unsated Passion glow'd;
And tho' she long'd to be once more a Bride,
Resolv'd to venture on no Youth untry'd.
Yet in her Eyes unsated Passion glow'd;
And tho' she long'd to be once more a Bride,
Resolv'd to venture on no Youth untry'd.
To gratify this Nymph, if Tales say true,
The famous Wyburn often lay perdue,
And rang'd all Corners of the Town to find,
Sound, wholesome Youths, well limb'd, and bravely chin'd;
By Nature form'd to dig in Beauties Mine,
And such alone she brought to Rosaline.
The famous Wyburn often lay perdue,
And rang'd all Corners of the Town to find,
Sound, wholesome Youths, well limb'd, and bravely chin'd;
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And such alone she brought to Rosaline.
But ah! what Hercules could sate the Dame?
Or cool with Draughts of Love so fierce a Flame?
The wonted Fever in her Blood remain'd,
And of th'enervate Sex the Fair complain'd.
Or cool with Draughts of Love so fierce a Flame?
The wonted Fever in her Blood remain'd,
And of th'enervate Sex the Fair complain'd.
To her the Bawd the joyful News imparts,
Of her late Conquest, and successful Arts;
And on the Wings of Love she bids her haste,
To glut her Senses with the rich repast.
Of her late Conquest, and successful Arts;
And on the Wings of Love she bids her haste,
To glut her Senses with the rich repast.
The Tidings heard, impatient of delay,
The Widow mounts in Hack, and posts away;
So great her Speed, her Wishes were so strong,
The sluggard Horses seem'd to creep along.
The Widow mounts in Hack, and posts away;
So great her Speed, her Wishes were so strong,
The sluggard Horses seem'd to creep along.
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Nor less impatient, flew th'Hibernian Beau,
(For the kind Broker now had made him so;)
He flew, and knock'd at th'Hospitable Door,
The Nymph and Matron were got in before.
(For the kind Broker now had made him so;)
He flew, and knock'd at th'Hospitable Door,
The Nymph and Matron were got in before.
What Muse? what Painter can the Raptures draw,
Which seiz'd the Fair when her new Slave she saw?
When the dear Youth she greedily survey'd,
So well proportion'd, and so strongly made;
He, from his Birth, a Stranger was to Shame,
And met her Transports with an equal Flame;
The conscious Bawd her useless Presence knew,
Submissive drop'd her Curtsie, and withdrew.
Which seiz'd the Fair when her new Slave she saw?
When the dear Youth she greedily survey'd,
So well proportion'd, and so strongly made;
He, from his Birth, a Stranger was to Shame,
And met her Transports with an equal Flame;
The conscious Bawd her useless Presence knew,
Submissive drop'd her Curtsie, and withdrew.
Now thy soft Rites, great Venus, are begun,
And twelve delicious Hours too swiftly run;
The fair One trembles at th'approach of Light,
And begs of Jove to lengthen out the Night:
So well the Munstrian Hero play'd his Part,
She freely gave him up her conquer'd Heart;
Amaz'd to find, he call'd for no Recruits
Of strength'ning Jellies, nor Eringo Roots.
And twelve delicious Hours too swiftly run;
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And begs of Jove to lengthen out the Night:
So well the Munstrian Hero play'd his Part,
She freely gave him up her conquer'd Heart;
Amaz'd to find, he call'd for no Recruits
Of strength'ning Jellies, nor Eringo Roots.
Have I then found, (she cry'd) O lovely Swain!
Those Nerves, at last, I sought so long in vain;
And art thou only of all Human Race,
Endu'd with Strength to meet my fierce Embrace?
Since first in genial Wars I try'd my Skill,
Oft as I fought, I prov'd the Conqu'ror still;
But thou, thriumphant Youth, hast made me yield,
And fairly quit the long contested Field.
Those Nerves, at last, I sought so long in vain;
And art thou only of all Human Race,
Endu'd with Strength to meet my fierce Embrace?
Since first in genial Wars I try'd my Skill,
Oft as I fought, I prov'd the Conqu'ror still;
But thou, thriumphant Youth, hast made me yield,
And fairly quit the long contested Field.
The glad Hibernian with a Victor's Pride,
Heard his fair Patroness, and thus reply'd:
Heard his fair Patroness, and thus reply'd:
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Dear Nymph, for half the Raptures I have known,
What Monarch would not quit the brightest Throne?
In these soft Arms one blissful Night to lye,
What Shape would Jove not condescend to try?
O! Blush not, fairest Rosaline, to be,
In this Night's conflict thus out-done by me;
Nor think such Vigour strange in one so young,
For know, from Giant Race, the Macs are sprung,
Hibernian Heroes, fam'd before the Flood,
Transmitted to these Veins their antient Blood;
Who in past Ages Munster's Scepter sway'd,
And on their Shields the Golden Harp display'd.
Were I the Story of our Woes to tell,
And how the mighty Name of Dermot fell;
How my great Ancestors were forc'd from Home,
To dwell in Cabins, and on Bogs to roam;
What fruitful Fields my hapless Fathers lost,
And Castles labour'd up with Princely Cost;
The God of Day would to the Main descend,
Before the tedious, dismal Tale would end;
Thy Swain would quite forget his blissful State,
And, maugre all these Charms, repine at Fate.
What Monarch would not quit the brightest Throne?
In these soft Arms one blissful Night to lye,
What Shape would Jove not condescend to try?
O! Blush not, fairest Rosaline, to be,
In this Night's conflict thus out-done by me;
Nor think such Vigour strange in one so young,
For know, from Giant Race, the Macs are sprung,
Hibernian Heroes, fam'd before the Flood,
Transmitted to these Veins their antient Blood;
Who in past Ages Munster's Scepter sway'd,
And on their Shields the Golden Harp display'd.
Were I the Story of our Woes to tell,
And how the mighty Name of Dermot fell;
How my great Ancestors were forc'd from Home,
To dwell in Cabins, and on Bogs to roam;
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And Castles labour'd up with Princely Cost;
The God of Day would to the Main descend,
Before the tedious, dismal Tale would end;
Thy Swain would quite forget his blissful State,
And, maugre all these Charms, repine at Fate.
Mac-Dermot said; and just as he gave o'er,
Th'impatient Bawd unlock'd the Chamber Door;
Behind, two brawny Amazons attend,
And with a luscious Load their Shoulders bend,
Rich Soups, of Crayfish and Pistachoes made,
And Wines, that keep up Nature undecay'd.
Th'impatient Bawd unlock'd the Chamber Door;
Behind, two brawny Amazons attend,
And with a luscious Load their Shoulders bend,
Rich Soups, of Crayfish and Pistachoes made,
And Wines, that keep up Nature undecay'd.
To the glad Beldam, now the Fair repeats,
Her Lover's Prowess, and Nocturnal Feats;
What Shocks he gave, and what Assaults she bore;
And once again fights all their Battles o'er.
Mean while the sumptuous Feast new Strength imparts,
And Cupid whets afresh his pointless Darts;
A second Time the cunning Crone withdrew,
A second Time the Conflict they renew:
Weary'd at length, and sated with the Bliss,
The Lovers dress, and take a parting Kiss;
They part; but first, their Transports to repeat,
E'er ten long Hours were told, agreed to meet,
Soon as th'unwelcome Sun should end his Race,
And Night drive on her sable Steeds apace.
Her Lover's Prowess, and Nocturnal Feats;
What Shocks he gave, and what Assaults she bore;
And once again fights all their Battles o'er.
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And Cupid whets afresh his pointless Darts;
A second Time the cunning Crone withdrew,
A second Time the Conflict they renew:
Weary'd at length, and sated with the Bliss,
The Lovers dress, and take a parting Kiss;
They part; but first, their Transports to repeat,
E'er ten long Hours were told, agreed to meet,
Soon as th'unwelcome Sun should end his Race,
And Night drive on her sable Steeds apace.
Now upward, smiling, flew the Cyprian Boy,
And told above how Mac was form'd for Joy;
With Spleen each Goddess heard the wondrous Tale,
And ev'ry fair Celestial Cheek grew pale;
Great Juno scorns her Ruler of the Sky,
And Venus vows in Drury-Lane to ply.
And told above how Mac was form'd for Joy;
With Spleen each Goddess heard the wondrous Tale,
And ev'ry fair Celestial Cheek grew pale;
Great Juno scorns her Ruler of the Sky,
And Venus vows in Drury-Lane to ply.
| Mac-Dermot | |