The Fourth Volume of the Writings Of the Author of the London-Spy ::

Why how now, crys Venus, altho you're my Spouse,
If you Bitch me, you Brute, have a care of your Brows
Why sure you don't think, I the Goddess of Beauty,
By dint of ill Language will prove the more true t'ye;
Be civil, you'd best, or I vow by my Placket,
I'll make the God Mars bastanado your Jacket.

132

Are you there with your Bears, Smug replies to his Hussey
Does Mars still refresh your old Furbilo, does he;
I feel by my Forhead a Coat that is scarlet,
Of all kind of Baits, is the best for a Harlot;
For Beauty I find, as 'tis commonly said,
Will nibble like Fish at a Rag that is red;
But Hussey, tell me any more of your Mars,
And I'll run a hot Bar in your Goddeship's Arse;
I fear not your Threats, there's a Fart for your Bully.
No Whore in the Heavens shall make me her Cully.

You run a hot Bar in my Bum, quoth the Dame,
It's a sign you've a mighty Respect for the same,
If your Love be so little as so to abuse it,
I'll keep it for those who know better to use it,
I'm certain no Goddess that values her Honour,
Would bear the Indignities you put upon her,
And not from that minute resolve out of spite,
To improve your old Horns till they hang in your Light.

133

You're an impudent Slut, crys the Smug at his Bellows,
And I the unhappiest of all marry'd Fellows,
I know you have made me a Ram, I have seen it,
I catch'd you, you Whore, in the critical Minute,
Fast lock'd in the Arms of your lecherous God,
Whilst his brawny Posteriors went niddity nod;
And you, like a Slut, lay as pleas'd and contented,
As if e'ery Joint in your Body consented;
Altho when you found you were spy'd by your Buck,
Then you struggl'd and strove like a Pig that was stuck
And dismounting your God would have made your escape,
But I saw by your Actions it could be no Rape;
Tho when you first heard, by my Patting-Shoe tred,
My approach to your Whoreship's adulterous Bed,
I know you'd have flown with your Coats and your Boddice,
And afterwards vow'd 'twas some other lewd Goddess
But my Net was too strong, it prevented your flying,
And so put a stop to your swearing and lying.

134

Besides, that the Gods might behold what a Slut
Of a Beautiful Queen they amongst them had got,
I call'd 'em about, that their Honours might stand
And be Pimps to your Goddeship's Bus'ness in hand,
That in case you the Truth shou'd hereafter deny.
I might call the whole Heavens to witness you lye.

And what did you get, crys the amorous Dame,
For the pains that you took, but a Cuckoldly Name;
'Tis true, you'r confirm'd you've a Whore to your Wife,
Pray is that any Comfort or Ease to your Life,
And have made it appear to the Gods as a Jest,
That your Wife's Reputation is none of the best;
Does that make your Labour more easy or sweet,
Or give you more Gust to your Drink or your Meat?
Tis true, you are fram'd for the Net you have made,
Pray what did you catch in't but Horns for your Head,
You know that your Rival don't value a trap,
Or a Net, any more than a Child or a Clap;
A Soldier is never asham'd of his Vices,
But rather is proud of a Goddess's Kisses,

135

And thinks it adds more to a Hero's Renown,
To subdue a fair Lady than conquer a Town;
Your Spite must be therefore intended alone
Against me, and that my little Faults might be known;
Since 'tis as it is, I am very well pleas'd,
Your Head shall be loaded, my Tail shall be eas'd,
For since you have publish'd my Shame and Disgrace,
And have made me a Jest to the Heavenly Race,
I'll be impudent now, and when ever I meet
My dear Favorite, Mars, tho it be in the Street,
If a Bulk be but near, I will never more dally,
He shall, if it pleases him, ay marry shall he;
Thus all you shall get by your open detection
Of one silly Error in Female Affection,
Is a Wife that will cuckold you worse out of Spite
Now she's catch'd, than before she e'er did for Delight,
To punish thy Head and Heart, that very Vice
Which I us'd but in private whilst Honour was nice,
I'll publickly now practise over and o'er,
Till thou'rt fam'd for a Cuckold and I for a Whore.

136

Crys Vulcan, Could ever Man think that a Goddess,
Admir'd for her Charms by such numbers of Noddies,
Should ever be curst with so rampant a Tail,
That will swallow more Love-sap than I can do Ale;
A Pox of your Rump, for I plainly see 'tis
As salt as your Parents, Oceanus and Thetis.
But had I first known you had sprung from salt Water,
The Devil, for me, should have marry'd the Daughter;
Besides you are grown both so lustful and bold,
That as well as a Whore, you're a damnable Scold,
And for all your sweet Looks, have a Billingsgate Tongue,
That is fifty times worse than a Fishwoman's hung.
If these be the Plagues of a beautiful Wife,
O ease me, Great Jove, of so a cursed a Life;
If Ladies divine, who inhabit the Heavens,
Will Whore on like Mortals, at Sixes and Seven's,
Rave, rattle, and taunt at their hornify'd Spouses,
And ramble a Bitching thro all the twelve Houses;
For all your fine Features I'll e'en give you over,
The Charms of a Whore are but Plagues to a Lover.

137

Get you gone and be pox'd, to your old Bully Mars.
Let a God be Slave to your Goddeship's A---s,
Whilst I in contempt of your infamous Rump,
On my Anvil will knock with a Thump a Thump Thump.

University of Virginia Library

Vulcan and Venus, A Burlesque Poem.

At the Request of a merry Gentleman.