Sophia's Letter to the B---r---n Ger---b or Whiskers in the Dumps. With Old Sighs Set to New Tunes. A Poem [by George Daniel] |
 |
|
THE TALE.
|
 | Sophia's Letter to the B---r---n Ger---b |  |
6
THE TALE.
In Germany each lass they meet
Prowling for lovers in the street,
Ugly or fair, it makes no odds;
She on a scaffold high is plac'd,
And there indeed severely lac'd
With birchin rods.
Prowling for lovers in the street,
Ugly or fair, it makes no odds;
She on a scaffold high is plac'd,
And there indeed severely lac'd
With birchin rods.
A pretty girl, a young beginner,
Not quite a profligate, but yet a sinner,
Was caught by keen ey'd Justice tripping,
And sentenc'd to receive a whipping.
Not quite a profligate, but yet a sinner,
Was caught by keen ey'd Justice tripping,
And sentenc'd to receive a whipping.
She supplicates aloud for mercy—
The judge replies “You hussey, curse ye,
Confess your lovers or I'll skin ye,
Come, Jack, I pray thee be alert in
A sport so verily diverting,
Sweet miss, what obstinacy's in ye?”
The judge replies “You hussey, curse ye,
Confess your lovers or I'll skin ye,
Come, Jack, I pray thee be alert in
A sport so verily diverting,
Sweet miss, what obstinacy's in ye?”
7
O wretch! (for let me thus reprove thee)
Could not her charms, or soft entreaties move thee?
For none in either e'ereclips'd her;
Thou, who art itching all the time
To make the lass repeat the crime,
For which thou whip'st her!
Could not her charms, or soft entreaties move thee?
For none in either e'ereclips'd her;
Thou, who art itching all the time
To make the lass repeat the crime,
For which thou whip'st her!
Thank Heav'n! in this our happy island,
From rural Hammersmith to Mile End,
No fair need dread a judge or jury;
Witness the tall majestic dames,
Who haunt the purlieus of St. James,
Down to the hundreds of Old Drury.
From rural Hammersmith to Mile End,
No fair need dread a judge or jury;
Witness the tall majestic dames,
Who haunt the purlieus of St. James,
Down to the hundreds of Old Drury.
Now for our tale—this cruel Jack
Plays St. Bartholomew upon her back,
All with his birchin rods so taper:—
When thus the girl—“Had I the rod,
And were thy b---tt---ks bare, by G---d!
I'd teach your worship how to caper.
Plays St. Bartholomew upon her back,
All with his birchin rods so taper:—
When thus the girl—“Had I the rod,
And were thy b---tt---ks bare, by G---d!
I'd teach your worship how to caper.
“Yes, monster! but since non-confession
Adds to the weight of my transgression,
I will disclose aloud such fine tales,
That Justice with a frown imperious,
Shall soon transfer to thy posteriors
The cat o'nine-tails.
Adds to the weight of my transgression,
I will disclose aloud such fine tales,
That Justice with a frown imperious,
Shall soon transfer to thy posteriors
The cat o'nine-tails.
8
“Lords are my lovers, none e'er grudges
To ask my favors, I assure ye?
Why, in the number I have judges,
Lawyers, and gemmen of the jury.”
To ask my favors, I assure ye?
Why, in the number I have judges,
Lawyers, and gemmen of the jury.”
“'Tis false,” the judge replies, “thou trollop,
Thy very look's a dose of julap!—
But did they touch ye? tell me is it true,
Men who appear'd to me sagacious;
Touch an abandon'd wretch like you,
Good gracious!!
But Jack, whip on, perhaps there is a lover,
Some rogue whom she will not discover.”
Thy very look's a dose of julap!—
But did they touch ye? tell me is it true,
Men who appear'd to me sagacious;
Touch an abandon'd wretch like you,
Good gracious!!
But Jack, whip on, perhaps there is a lover,
Some rogue whom she will not discover.”
“Well,” cries the lass, “that lover I'll confess,
A judge he is, a vile inhuman elf;—
And if you ask his name, I can't do less
Than to declare that lover is—yourself.”
A judge he is, a vile inhuman elf;—
And if you ask his name, I can't do less
Than to declare that lover is—yourself.”
| Sophia's Letter to the B---r---n Ger---b | |