The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] ... With a Copious Index. To which is prefixed Some Account of his Life. In Four Volumes |
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 | The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] |  |
392
AN ODE TO A PRETTY MILLINER.
O nymph, with bandbox tripping on so sweet,
For Love's sake stay those pretty tripping feet,
Join'd to an ancle, form'd all hearts to steal—
That ancle to the neatest leg united,
Perhaps—with which I should be much delighted
For men by little matters guess a deal—
For Love's sake stay those pretty tripping feet,
Join'd to an ancle, form'd all hearts to steal—
That ancle to the neatest leg united,
Perhaps—with which I should be much delighted
For men by little matters guess a deal—
Love lent thee lips, and lent that bloom divine—
But, dearest damsel, what can make them mine?
Heav'n rests upon those heaving hills of snow;
The fascinating dimple in thy chin;
In short, thy charms without, and charms within,
Speak, are they purchasable?—aye, or no?
But, dearest damsel, what can make them mine?
Heav'n rests upon those heaving hills of snow;
The fascinating dimple in thy chin;
In short, thy charms without, and charms within,
Speak, are they purchasable?—aye, or no?
Thou seest my soul wild staring from my eyes;
Let me not burst in ignorance, fair maid—
Why showest thou, O peerless nymph, surprise?
I am no wolf to eat thee—why afraid?
Let me not burst in ignorance, fair maid—
Why showest thou, O peerless nymph, surprise?
I am no wolf to eat thee—why afraid?
O could I gain by gold those heav'nly charms?
Could gold once give thee to my eager arms,
Lo, into guineas would I coin my heart;
Those would I pour pell-mell into thy lap,
With thee to wake to love, and then to nap,
Then wake again—again to sleep depart.
Could gold once give thee to my eager arms,
Lo, into guineas would I coin my heart;
Those would I pour pell-mell into thy lap,
With thee to wake to love, and then to nap,
Then wake again—again to sleep depart.
All happy circled in thy arms of bliss;
To snatch, with riot wild, thy burning kiss;
A kiss!—a thousand kisses let me add—
Ten thousand from thy unexhausted mint,
And then ten thousand of my own imprint—
Speak, tempting Syren, to a swain stark mad.
To snatch, with riot wild, thy burning kiss;
A kiss!—a thousand kisses let me add—
Ten thousand from thy unexhausted mint,
And then ten thousand of my own imprint—
Speak, tempting Syren, to a swain stark mad.
Heav'ns! o'er thy cheek how deep the crimson glows,
And spreads upon thy breast of purest snows!
Why mute, my angel? thou disdain'st reply?
'Sdeath! what a cuckoo, what a rogue am I!
And spreads upon thy breast of purest snows!
393
'Sdeath! what a cuckoo, what a rogue am I!
O nymph, so sweet, forgive my wild desires;
That knave, thy bandbox, wak'd my lawless fires,
Bade me suspect what Chastity reveres:—
What will wipe out th' affront, O virgin, speak,
That flush'd the rose of virtue on thy cheek,
Chill'd thy young heart, and dash'd thine eye with tears?
That knave, thy bandbox, wak'd my lawless fires,
Bade me suspect what Chastity reveres:—
What will wipe out th' affront, O virgin, speak,
That flush'd the rose of virtue on thy cheek,
Chill'd thy young heart, and dash'd thine eye with tears?
Go, guard that honour which I deem'd departed—
O yield thy beauties to some swain kind-hearted,
Whose soul congenial shall with thine unite,
And Love allow no respite from delight.
O yield thy beauties to some swain kind-hearted,
Whose soul congenial shall with thine unite,
And Love allow no respite from delight.
| The Works of Peter Pindar [i.e. John Wolcot] | |