 | Songs, comic and satyrical |  |
THE SQUABBLE.
On
Ida one day, at Olympical feast,
The lass loving Jove was the host, Sir,
Who gayly proposing a health to the best,
On Venus he fix'd for his toast, Sir;
Each deity smil'd as the glass went about,
But, pettishly, Pallas her bumper threw out,
She spoke not, but seem'd by her manner to doubt
The justice of toasting Miss Venus.
The lass loving Jove was the host, Sir,
Who gayly proposing a health to the best,
On Venus he fix'd for his toast, Sir;
140
But, pettishly, Pallas her bumper threw out,
She spoke not, but seem'd by her manner to doubt
The justice of toasting Miss Venus.
Then Juno broke silence, and spoke by her power,
Her face looking pale like a spectre,
“The liquor was turning excessively sour,
“The toast gave a fust to the nectar.”
Minerva maliciously seconds Queen,
“I wonder, Papa, what it is you can mean,
“Sure other celestials are sweet and as clean,”
Though not quite so common as Venus.
Her face looking pale like a spectre,
“The liquor was turning excessively sour,
“The toast gave a fust to the nectar.”
Minerva maliciously seconds Queen,
“I wonder, Papa, what it is you can mean,
“Sure other celestials are sweet and as clean,”
Though not quite so common as Venus.
Dear M'em, replies Demirep Dio, and bow'd,
Your breeding just parrs your good-nature,
But ask the gods round, and, Nem. Con. 'tis allow'd,
To all I'm superior in future.
To be sure you're a prude, and enjoyment to spite,
That ugly shield bear, as if lovers you'll fright,
Enough, they are scar'd when they've once had a sight
Of the old-maiden face of Minerva.
Your breeding just parrs your good-nature,
But ask the gods round, and, Nem. Con. 'tis allow'd,
To all I'm superior in future.
To be sure you're a prude, and enjoyment to spite,
That ugly shield bear, as if lovers you'll fright,
Enough, they are scar'd when they've once had a sight
Of the old-maiden face of Minerva.
Her sov'reign and spouse haughty Juno may teize,
And bed-chamber women be rating,
And you, Miss Militia, as long as you please,
May listen to Sophisters prating;
But I, who am Empress of Love and its laws,
Who have immortals and mortals applause,
Whose beauties—but beauty (quoth Vulcan) has flaws;
When Mars knit his brow and look'd frowning.
And bed-chamber women be rating,
And you, Miss Militia, as long as you please,
May listen to Sophisters prating;
But I, who am Empress of Love and its laws,
Who have immortals and mortals applause,
Whose beauties—but beauty (quoth Vulcan) has flaws;
When Mars knit his brow and look'd frowning.
Jove rose in a rage, as he rose though, he reel'd,
And hiccups gave out by the hundred;
Like artists on ice, to the right and left wheel'd,
By Styx then he swore and he thunder'd:
“Two to one, Madam Ox-Eye, is very foul play;
“Miss Brain-born I beg you'll dispatch and away,
“Or what Paris told me of both, I shall say.”
The goddesses went away grumbling.
And hiccups gave out by the hundred;
Like artists on ice, to the right and left wheel'd,
By Styx then he swore and he thunder'd:
“Two to one, Madam Ox-Eye, is very foul play;
“Miss Brain-born I beg you'll dispatch and away,
“Or what Paris told me of both, I shall say.”
The goddesses went away grumbling.
141
Come, come! (says young Bacchus) pray, father, have done;
They are off; in the Milky-Way, walking,
We'll drink and be merry, the gossips are gone—
Of a song brother Phœbus was talking.
Apollo began, with the help of the Nine,
The ladies returning, good natur'dly join,
Such power has music when mingl'd with wine,
All friendly were fuddled together.
They are off; in the Milky-Way, walking,
We'll drink and be merry, the gossips are gone—
Of a song brother Phœbus was talking.
Apollo began, with the help of the Nine,
The ladies returning, good natur'dly join,
Such power has music when mingl'd with wine,
All friendly were fuddled together.
| Songs, comic and satyrical | |