 | The wits paraphras'd |  |
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DIDO TO ÆNEAS.
The ARGUMENT.
Æneas the Son of Venus and Anchises, having at the Destruction of Troy, saved his Gods, his Father, and Son Ascanius from the Fire, put to Sea with twenty Sail of Ships, and having been long tost with Tempests, was at last Cast upon the Shoar at Lybia, where Queen Dido (flying from the Cruelty of Pigmalion her brother, who had killed her Hush and Sicheas) had lately built Carthage. She entertained Æneas and his Fleet with great Civility, fell passionately in love with him, and in the end denied him not the last Favours. But Mercury admonishing Æneas to go in Search of Italy (a Kingdom promised to him by the Gods) he readily prepared to obey him. Dido soon perceived it, and having in vain try'd all other means to engage him to stay, at last in despair writes to him as follows.
So in the Fallows of Menander
The mournful Goose gaggles for Gander.
Not that I doubt a greater Mischance,
Or hope t' enjoy thee at this distance;
But having lost my better half,
Why should I fear to cast my Calf?
The mournful Goose gaggles for Gander.
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Or hope t' enjoy thee at this distance;
But having lost my better half,
Why should I fear to cast my Calf?
'Tis then decreed poor Dido's left
Of thee, and all thou hast bereft.
While thou designs amongst such Trumpery
Had rather have thy Room then Company.
Nor can my kindness yet restrain you,
You seek a Whore that would refrain you.
You shun your old Friend for a new one,
See what you get by playing Truant.
Of thee, and all thou hast bereft.
While thou designs amongst such Trumpery
Had rather have thy Room then Company.
Nor can my kindness yet restrain you,
You seek a Whore that would refrain you.
You shun your old Friend for a new one,
See what you get by playing Truant.
Suppose unto your wish you landed,
Then like a Coxcomb be Disbanded;
What Cully is so void of Sense
To hope to find an honest Wench?
Yet you refuse your old Cunabling,
And in new holes love to be dabling.
When will your Truls such pleasure show
As mine, above, or yet below?
If twenty such you chance to see,
You'l never find the like of me.
For oh! I burn alive, Pox rot 'em,
With those same things as I had got 'em.
Then like a Coxcomb be Disbanded;
What Cully is so void of Sense
To hope to find an honest Wench?
Yet you refuse your old Cunabling,
And in new holes love to be dabling.
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As mine, above, or yet below?
If twenty such you chance to see,
You'l never find the like of me.
For oh! I burn alive, Pox rot 'em,
With those same things as I had got 'em.
Æneas is my daily Theam,
And all the night of him I dream.
Yet he (ungrateful) is abscond,
Fool that I was to be so fond.
My self alone can nothing do,
Which makes me oftner wish for you.
And all the night of him I dream.
Yet he (ungrateful) is abscond,
Fool that I was to be so fond.
My self alone can nothing do,
Which makes me oftner wish for you.
Oh! Cupid, pitty me, and make
Thy Brother kinder for my sake.
I'me raging mad to think that Venus
With such a Scoundrel shou'd bestein us;
Such an unluckey Harlots Bird,
Thou Venus Son? thou Venus T---d,
Sprung from the Droppings of a Dish-clout,
Or from the Scummings of a Piss-pot.
Drawn in a Flood from her Inferiors,
She blew thee out of her Posteriors,
Which made a Bouncing and a Rottle,
Like windy Ale in strait-mouth'd Bottle;
A noise like that makes neighbouring Nation
Take snuff in Nose, and fall in passion.
That rais'd the Billows with a Powder,
A Hurricane cou'd not be lowder.
Yet rather then thou shou'd be packing,
I wou'd dispence with all thy cracking
Thy Brother kinder for my sake.
I'me raging mad to think that Venus
With such a Scoundrel shou'd bestein us;
Such an unluckey Harlots Bird,
Thou Venus Son? thou Venus T---d,
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Or from the Scummings of a Piss-pot.
Drawn in a Flood from her Inferiors,
She blew thee out of her Posteriors,
Which made a Bouncing and a Rottle,
Like windy Ale in strait-mouth'd Bottle;
A noise like that makes neighbouring Nation
Take snuff in Nose, and fall in passion.
That rais'd the Billows with a Powder,
A Hurricane cou'd not be lowder.
Yet rather then thou shou'd be packing,
I wou'd dispence with all thy cracking
Thou dost deserve to hang, thy swingers
And thee, but I'le not 'file my Fingers.
By shunning me you fall in Chinks,
The more you stir the worse it stinks.
Stay but alittle till the Tide
Be turn'd, and I am satisfi'd
Stay only while your blood does Flow,
And when it's out, then freely go.
And thee, but I'le not 'file my Fingers.
By shunning me you fall in Chinks,
The more you stir the worse it stinks.
Stay but alittle till the Tide
Be turn'd, and I am satisfi'd
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And when it's out, then freely go.
Know'st thou not yet the many dangers
In unknown Pools do happen Strangers?
The Fire-Ships flaming in the Center,
How are you then so bold to venture?
Which were it safe from Node or Shanker,
A thousand Mischiefs in it Anchor.
In that Abyss the Fates have Engines
For to revenge you with a Vengeance.
There all your Mains Chance often Nicks,
To pay at last for all your tricks,
In unknown Pools do happen Strangers?
The Fire-Ships flaming in the Center,
How are you then so bold to venture?
Which were it safe from Node or Shanker,
A thousand Mischiefs in it Anchor.
In that Abyss the Fates have Engines
For to revenge you with a Vengeance.
There all your Mains Chance often Nicks,
To pay at last for all your tricks,
Thus I thy safety do propound,
And clapt my self to keep thee sound.
False as thou art I'de not contrive
Thy Death to have thee rot alive.
I rather (as thou dost design)
Thou liv'd to be the cause of mine.
Shou'd thou be Poxt by any Woman.
(But Heav'n I pray forbid the Omen)
While for Revenge my Fury cries out,
My very Ghost wou'd pull thy eyes out.
Foaming at mouth think how I rore,
And bait thee like a Butter-whore.
Shou'd Pains and Ulcers then like Thunder
Seize thee and tear thy Soul asunder,
What coud'st thou say in thy defence,
But 'tis what I deserv'd long since?
And clapt my self to keep thee sound.
False as thou art I'de not contrive
Thy Death to have thee rot alive.
I rather (as thou dost design)
Thou liv'd to be the cause of mine.
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(But Heav'n I pray forbid the Omen)
While for Revenge my Fury cries out,
My very Ghost wou'd pull thy eyes out.
Foaming at mouth think how I rore,
And bait thee like a Butter-whore.
Shou'd Pains and Ulcers then like Thunder
Seize thee and tear thy Soul asunder,
What coud'st thou say in thy defence,
But 'tis what I deserv'd long since?
Lest this should happen, be no Ranger,
But stay at home to shun the danger.
Think of thy Brats, if not thy Gransire,
For me thou'lt have enough to Answer.
What have they done that thou'lt be ganging?
Was't to be drown'd they scap'd a hanging?
But thou preserv'd not Son nor Father,
But Wind to fill an Empty Blather.
But stay at home to shun the danger.
Think of thy Brats, if not thy Gransire,
For me thou'lt have enough to Answer.
What have they done that thou'lt be ganging?
Was't to be drown'd they scap'd a hanging?
But thou preserv'd not Son nor Father,
But Wind to fill an Empty Blather.
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Thy Tales of Troy were all Romances,
Nor I first gull'd amongst thy Wenches.
Did you not leave among the Bogs
Your own Creusa to the Dogs?
This Cruelty my heart did fire,
That thou shou'd deal so basely by her,
Nor do I doubt for such abuses,
(Tho' you pretend a thousand 'scuses)
The Fates conspir'd with Sea and Wind
To Plague, and serve thee in thy kind.
Thy tattard Crew, those lean Rascallions,
Those lousy starv'd Taterdemallions,
Like drown'd Rats cast ashoar I fed,
And made thee free of Board and Bed.
To succour them at such a Season
Was kind, the rest was out of reason.
Nor I first gull'd amongst thy Wenches.
Did you not leave among the Bogs
Your own Creusa to the Dogs?
This Cruelty my heart did fire,
That thou shou'd deal so basely by her,
Nor do I doubt for such abuses,
(Tho' you pretend a thousand 'scuses)
The Fates conspir'd with Sea and Wind
To Plague, and serve thee in thy kind.
Thy tattard Crew, those lean Rascallions,
Those lousy starv'd Taterdemallions,
Like drown'd Rats cast ashoar I fed,
And made thee free of Board and Bed.
To succour them at such a Season
Was kind, the rest was out of reason.
Curst be the Shower that did Pelter,
When to the Ditch we went for shelter.
The Dairy wenches, and the Milk-Maids
That little knew thy knack to Bilk Maids,
When they began to tune their Pallets,
I thought had sung our Wedding Ballets.
But now I find the Fury's Barked,
The lamentation of bad Market.
When to the Ditch we went for shelter.
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That little knew thy knack to Bilk Maids,
When they began to tune their Pallets,
I thought had sung our Wedding Ballets.
But now I find the Fury's Barked,
The lamentation of bad Market.
Oh Honesty! where art thou Banisht?
Exact thy due from him that's Vanisht;
By Death redeem my Reputation,
And let my Ghost blow up the Nation.
Exact thy due from him that's Vanisht;
By Death redeem my Reputation,
And let my Ghost blow up the Nation.
Close by my Thighs, a gloomy thicket
Lies languishing for thee, my Pricket.
There reath'd with flowers longs to be at you,
Altho' it were but with your Statue.
Last night methought he scratcht my Bum,
And twice he cry'd, my Dido come.
She comes indeed, and hears thy Summons,
But cannot brook your single Commons.
Lies languishing for thee, my Pricket.
There reath'd with flowers longs to be at you,
Altho' it were but with your Statue.
Last night methought he scratcht my Bum,
And twice he cry'd, my Dido come.
She comes indeed, and hears thy Summons,
But cannot brook your single Commons.
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Forgive the wrongs thy Bed I offer'd,
Thou askt no sooner then 'twas proffer'd.
Thy Mother Bawd, and Sire who is Chief
Of all the Pimps, did all the Mischief.
Thou askt no sooner then 'twas proffer'd.
Thy Mother Bawd, and Sire who is Chief
Of all the Pimps, did all the Mischief.
He came of such a noble Race,
I wish I had him by the face.
But ill luck got me by the Scut,
And as it open'd let it shut.
I wish I had him by the face.
But ill luck got me by the Scut,
And as it open'd let it shut.
My fool, my Brother slew at th' Altar,
He took his Goods, and left a Halter.
Friendless and Pennyless with Rumping
I clear'd the ground, and went a mumping
To Forreign Countreys, where my Brother
Cou'd not discern me from another.
And here a Stroler from the Tenants,
I bought this spot to do my Pennance,
With all the Garden-Plats and Ditches,
To entertain thee and thy Bitches.
And rais'd these Walls by Theft and Plunder,
To all my Neighbours fear and wonder:
But most their fear, for much they dread
The Roof will fall upon their head.
And now they Arm with Spade and Shovel
With Topsy-turvey to unruffle.
I must have a man to find me Mortar,
A Woman's but a weak supporter,
He took his Goods, and left a Halter.
Friendless and Pennyless with Rumping
I clear'd the ground, and went a mumping
To Forreign Countreys, where my Brother
Cou'd not discern me from another.
And here a Stroler from the Tenants,
I bought this spot to do my Pennance,
With all the Garden-Plats and Ditches,
To entertain thee and thy Bitches.
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To all my Neighbours fear and wonder:
But most their fear, for much they dread
The Roof will fall upon their head.
And now they Arm with Spade and Shovel
With Topsy-turvey to unruffle.
I must have a man to find me Mortar,
A Woman's but a weak supporter,
And yet a thousand Gulls a Drinking
Wou'd for my sake keep all from sinking;
Who tho they offer Sheep and Mutton
To thee, I value not a Button.
To Proud Hyarbas let me Sail,
(For this must be if we sell Ale)
Or to my Husbands Murd'rer leave me,
What Eye sees not, Heart cannot grieve me.
Wou'd for my sake keep all from sinking;
Who tho they offer Sheep and Mutton
To thee, I value not a Button.
To Proud Hyarbas let me Sail,
(For this must be if we sell Ale)
Or to my Husbands Murd'rer leave me,
What Eye sees not, Heart cannot grieve me.
Go then fond Rustick, trace the Mildews,
But leave behind your Tools and Dildoes.
Touch not that Spot, who art not such,
Thou with a pair of Tongues should touch.
Thy bawdy fist it more disdains
That e're it caught me by the Reins.
But leave behind your Tools and Dildoes.
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Thou with a pair of Tongues should touch.
Thy bawdy fist it more disdains
That e're it caught me by the Reins.
Perhaps my greatest shame's to come,
Since thou lay pelting at my Bum.
My Souderkin and I (God wot)
Must both together go to Pot;
And tho' unborn, with guiltless Mother,
Resolve to dye with one another.
Some God thou saist sent thee aground,
Wou'd I 're as sure of twenty Pound,
Or the same God, beshrew his Garters,
Had found thee out some other Quarters.
But whether 'twas a God or Devil,
No thanks to them, you found me Civil.
Nor do I doubt but he the Calf
That put thee on, will bring thee off.
Since thou lay pelting at my Bum.
My Souderkin and I (God wot)
Must both together go to Pot;
And tho' unborn, with guiltless Mother,
Resolve to dye with one another.
Some God thou saist sent thee aground,
Wou'd I 're as sure of twenty Pound,
Or the same God, beshrew his Garters,
Had found thee out some other Quarters.
But whether 'twas a God or Devil,
No thanks to them, you found me Civil.
Nor do I doubt but he the Calf
That put thee on, will bring thee off.
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You're bound to Tiber for new plunders,
And there you hope to purchace Wonders.
But when thou'rt there thou'lt be at best,
I fear me, but a sorry Guest.
Yet it may live to bauk thy Fleet,
When thou hast nere a nose to see't.
And there you hope to purchace Wonders.
But when thou'rt there thou'lt be at best,
I fear me, but a sorry Guest.
Yet it may live to bauk thy Fleet,
When thou hast nere a nose to see't.
A Crown in ready is my Dower,
Here thou art safe a Conquerour,
Here thou may Fix thy Troy and Historys,
And young Ascanius get a Mistress,
And while we sleep in a whole skin,
Bring Grist to Mill, and make no din.
Here thou art safe a Conquerour,
Here thou may Fix thy Troy and Historys,
And young Ascanius get a Mistress,
And while we sleep in a whole skin,
Bring Grist to Mill, and make no din.
By Cupid's Arrows I adjure thee,
And all the Gods that forward spur thee,
As thou dost pitty one unhappy,
That has no crime, but that she clapt thee;
Come home with all the speed you can,
What is a Miss without a man?
And all the Gods that forward spur thee,
As thou dost pitty one unhappy,
That has no crime, but that she clapt thee;
Come home with all the speed you can,
What is a Miss without a man?
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I am not spawn'd from fierce Achilles,
Nor did my Parents owe thee Malice.
To be thy Wife if 'tis offence,
I'm satisfi'd to be thy Wench.
To have thee here upon the spot,
What would I be? What wou'd I not?
Nor did my Parents owe thee Malice.
To be thy Wife if 'tis offence,
I'm satisfi'd to be thy Wench.
To have thee here upon the spot,
What would I be? What wou'd I not?
Our Libian Coasts do know our Seasons,
When you may best Ship off your Peasants.
Refer it to my care and leasure,
When you are safe then use your pleasure.
Your weary Slaves wou'd be content;
Their Shirts are torn, and Masts are spent.
If by the nose I canot lead thee,
What Merit can't, let Love persuade thee.
When you may best Ship off your Peasants.
Refer it to my care and leasure,
When you are safe then use your pleasure.
Your weary Slaves wou'd be content;
Their Shirts are torn, and Masts are spent.
If by the nose I canot lead thee,
What Merit can't, let Love persuade thee.
Stay till I learn a while to juggle,
And give me time with grief to struggle.
If not, know this—I'le neer endure
A Malady admits no cure.
My Life's too weak, the Devill too strong on't,
I'll hang my self, ther's short and long on't.
And give me time with grief to struggle.
If not, know this—I'le neer endure
A Malady admits no cure.
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I'll hang my self, ther's short and long on't.
Death holds my pen, and stops my Eyes
While crose my Lap the halter lyes.
I Scow'r for very fear with thinking
My windpipe short will spoil my drinking.
My funerall pomp will cost thee faire
To pay't with threepence worth of ware.
Thy Gift! A Rope light on the Tool
Is e'en too good for such a Fool.
While crose my Lap the halter lyes.
I Scow'r for very fear with thinking
My windpipe short will spoil my drinking.
My funerall pomp will cost thee faire
To pay't with threepence worth of ware.
Thy Gift! A Rope light on the Tool
Is e'en too good for such a Fool.
To no new wounds I make a buzzle,
The old Noose Love has stopt my guzle.
And thou dear Nanny make a shift
To help me out at a dead Lift,
And all my Neighbours with a scritch
Be sure to throw me in some Ditch;
But lay me not my Husbands grave in,
Because with Horns I did beslave him.
Write only this short Epitaph.
Here Dido lyes that lov'd to quaff,
Eneas left me rope, the Elf,
And I did fairly hang my self.
The old Noose Love has stopt my guzle.
And thou dear Nanny make a shift
To help me out at a dead Lift,
And all my Neighbours with a scritch
Be sure to throw me in some Ditch;
But lay me not my Husbands grave in,
Because with Horns I did beslave him.
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Here Dido lyes that lov'd to quaff,
Eneas left me rope, the Elf,
And I did fairly hang my self.
| The wits paraphras'd | |