 | The wits paraphras'd |  |
9
Conace to Macareus.
The ARGUMENT.
Macareus and Conace Daughter and Son to Æolus God of of the Winds, lov'd each other incestuously. Conace was delivered of a Son, and committed him to her Nurse to be secretly conveyed away. The Infant crying out, by that means was discovered to Æolus, who inraged at the wickedness of his Children, commanded the Babe to be exposed to wilde Beasts on the Mountains; and withal sent a Sword to Conace with this Message, That her Crimes would instruct her how to use it. With this Sword she slew her self: but before she dyed, she writ the following Letter to her Brother Macareus, who had taken Sanctuary in the Temple of Apollo.
If menstruous Bloud can make a spot,
Imagine I am gone to pot.
One hand employs my Pen, alas!
With t'other hand I scratch my A---
In that same posture now I write,
Just as my Father us'd to sh---
Wou'd he were present with his Nose,
T' extract the Essence of my close;
That he might see while I am feigning
To die, what mouths I make with straining.
Jove made him sure a farting Elf,
His Daughters are so like himself.
The North and South, and all their Blunder,
Are far beneath my posterns Thunder.
Those he can rule; but his lewd mind
Is like his huffing, unconfin'd.
Oh! to what end am I created
A Fool, to Jove to be related?
Or what avails his godly Pelf,
When I am like to hang my self?
We yoak'd in an unlucky hour,
When you your Sister did deflour.
And tho in you was no remissness,
We were too hot upon the bus'ness.
Why shou'dst in Bloud raise such a Blister,
To make a Miss of thy own Sister?
And why shou'd I prove such another
Fondling, to love thee more than Brother?
For I lov'd too, and in thy Kisses
I found a Bait that never misses.
My Cheeks grew pale, and by my strictness
I got a fit of the Green-sickness.
With longing thoughts I grew so lean,
I lost my Colour quite and clean.
My Strength I lost, and lost my bloud;
My Meat and Drink did me no good.
I cou'd not speak without a Tongue:
My Slumbers short, my Nights were long;
Yet knew no cause, nor cou'd I shew
A Reason for't, and yet I knew.
Imagine I am gone to pot.
One hand employs my Pen, alas!
With t'other hand I scratch my A---
In that same posture now I write,
Just as my Father us'd to sh---
Wou'd he were present with his Nose,
T' extract the Essence of my close;
10
To die, what mouths I make with straining.
Jove made him sure a farting Elf,
His Daughters are so like himself.
The North and South, and all their Blunder,
Are far beneath my posterns Thunder.
Those he can rule; but his lewd mind
Is like his huffing, unconfin'd.
Oh! to what end am I created
A Fool, to Jove to be related?
Or what avails his godly Pelf,
When I am like to hang my self?
We yoak'd in an unlucky hour,
When you your Sister did deflour.
And tho in you was no remissness,
We were too hot upon the bus'ness.
Why shou'dst in Bloud raise such a Blister,
To make a Miss of thy own Sister?
11
Fondling, to love thee more than Brother?
For I lov'd too, and in thy Kisses
I found a Bait that never misses.
My Cheeks grew pale, and by my strictness
I got a fit of the Green-sickness.
With longing thoughts I grew so lean,
I lost my Colour quite and clean.
My Strength I lost, and lost my bloud;
My Meat and Drink did me no good.
I cou'd not speak without a Tongue:
My Slumbers short, my Nights were long;
Yet knew no cause, nor cou'd I shew
A Reason for't, and yet I knew.
My wicked Nurse that knew the Trade,
An old experienc'd bawdy Jade,
Well practis'd in the Art of Wooing,
Found I was willing to be doing.
'Tis Love, said she, and he is as stiff;
Which made me blush like any Mastiff.
At last the naked truth she made me
Confess; my very looks betray'd me.
An old experienc'd bawdy Jade,
Well practis'd in the Art of Wooing,
Found I was willing to be doing.
12
Which made me blush like any Mastiff.
At last the naked truth she made me
Confess; my very looks betray'd me.
At length we stumble on the shelves;
And what we did, we know our selves.
When half denying, half contented,
We met in full, and full consented;
Then what with joy, and what with that
Of guilt, my heart went pitty-pat.
My Roguery cou'd not be hid
When I began to be with Kid.
What Slaps and Syrrups Nurse did vary,
To make the Bantling to miscarry!
All to no purpose, for you know
No Carrion yet cou'd kill a Crow.
The sturdy Brat, young Hans en Keldar,
'Gainst all our Drugs his Lungs did shelter.
Nine months were past with pangs & tumblings,
When I complain of horrid grumblings;
To that unhappy state I come,
Pain urg'd my Cries, Fear kept me dumb.
What plaguy Do they had t'unwhelp me?
And Mother Midnight cou'd not help me.
When thou, th'occasion of the fault,
Come in as ragged as a Colt,
Cry'd, Courage, Wench, holding my back,
My own dear Sister, and my Crack:
That very word brought forth the wonder,
And made my Haunches fall asunder.
This Storm is o'er; but what is't, Brother,
While the old Huff can raise another?
At Council-board rock't in a Cradle,
The King lay with his blundering Rabble,
And through this hole, as Nick wou'd have it,
The childe must pass, or he wou'd slave it.
The Nurse to save his pretty Grace,
Put on a zealous brazen face;
With Beads and Prayers she seign'd to mutter,
As if her mouth cou'd not melt Butter.
In Double-clout wrapt in her lap,
She through the Room thought to escape:
But Pox on all ill luck, the Whore
Had hardly got him to the door,
When straight the Puppy fell a yelping,
What Bitch of mine has been a whelping?
Quoth he; and so he fell a plundering
The Placket-geer like Light and Thundering.
But when he found it was my Bastard,
Defend me! how he storm'd and bluster'd?
As in his old fit of the Scurvy
He'd blow the Nation topsie-turvy:
He kept such horrid noise and thumping,
I knew his meaning by his mumping.
Never was Sculler in such pickle,
When Winds hold forth in Conventicle.
Then I when he began to thunder me,
My very Bed did tremble under me,
He'd murder me for your deflouring;
I had much ado to scape a scouring.
And what we did, we know our selves.
When half denying, half contented,
We met in full, and full consented;
Then what with joy, and what with that
Of guilt, my heart went pitty-pat.
My Roguery cou'd not be hid
When I began to be with Kid.
What Slaps and Syrrups Nurse did vary,
To make the Bantling to miscarry!
All to no purpose, for you know
No Carrion yet cou'd kill a Crow.
The sturdy Brat, young Hans en Keldar,
'Gainst all our Drugs his Lungs did shelter.
13
When I complain of horrid grumblings;
To that unhappy state I come,
Pain urg'd my Cries, Fear kept me dumb.
What plaguy Do they had t'unwhelp me?
And Mother Midnight cou'd not help me.
When thou, th'occasion of the fault,
Come in as ragged as a Colt,
Cry'd, Courage, Wench, holding my back,
My own dear Sister, and my Crack:
That very word brought forth the wonder,
And made my Haunches fall asunder.
This Storm is o'er; but what is't, Brother,
While the old Huff can raise another?
At Council-board rock't in a Cradle,
The King lay with his blundering Rabble,
And through this hole, as Nick wou'd have it,
The childe must pass, or he wou'd slave it.
14
Put on a zealous brazen face;
With Beads and Prayers she seign'd to mutter,
As if her mouth cou'd not melt Butter.
In Double-clout wrapt in her lap,
She through the Room thought to escape:
But Pox on all ill luck, the Whore
Had hardly got him to the door,
When straight the Puppy fell a yelping,
What Bitch of mine has been a whelping?
Quoth he; and so he fell a plundering
The Placket-geer like Light and Thundering.
But when he found it was my Bastard,
Defend me! how he storm'd and bluster'd?
As in his old fit of the Scurvy
He'd blow the Nation topsie-turvy:
He kept such horrid noise and thumping,
I knew his meaning by his mumping.
15
When Winds hold forth in Conventicle.
Then I when he began to thunder me,
My very Bed did tremble under me,
He'd murder me for your deflouring;
I had much ado to scape a scouring.
But what went nearest to my Gizard,
In spite of Prayers, the blundering Wizard,
To shew his malice by and large,
And save the Parish of a Charge,
He sends the Bastard to the Bogs,
To be a Breakfast for the Dogs.
To have our bowels tore, and rent
At such a rate, wou'd vex a Saint.
Nay more than that, he sent a Bully
To catechize me for my folly:
Take this, much good may't do your heart.
A Rope, said I? and here's a Fart.
To hang I am not such a Mawking.
Your Father sent it for a Token.
I know my Fathers tricks of old.
Your Father sent you this, and told
To th' use of it your Crimes assist you:
In short, 'twas 'cause your Brother kiss't you.
In spite of Prayers, the blundering Wizard,
To shew his malice by and large,
And save the Parish of a Charge,
He sends the Bastard to the Bogs,
To be a Breakfast for the Dogs.
To have our bowels tore, and rent
At such a rate, wou'd vex a Saint.
Nay more than that, he sent a Bully
To catechize me for my folly:
Take this, much good may't do your heart.
A Rope, said I? and here's a Fart.
16
Your Father sent it for a Token.
I know my Fathers tricks of old.
Your Father sent you this, and told
To th' use of it your Crimes assist you:
In short, 'twas 'cause your Brother kiss't you.
My Father mought not been so rough:
I smoke the business well enough.
Well, tell him I'll obey his pleasure
Some time when I am more at leisure.
And is this all my Nuptial Dowry?
In troth a very pretty story.
Burn me alive if I'd not rather
Be torn by Furies than my Father.
I wish my Sister better luck,
Warn'd by my Sample how to truck.
Poor Monkey! 'twas no fault of thine;
It was thy Daddy's sin, and mine.
In a curst hour thou did assail us,
Dragg'd from the Cradle to the Gallows;
Where for my fault they did berave thee,
Nor was it in my power to save thee.
We did the Mischief, thou must bang for't;
I'll follow after, tho I hang for't.
I smoke the business well enough.
Well, tell him I'll obey his pleasure
Some time when I am more at leisure.
And is this all my Nuptial Dowry?
In troth a very pretty story.
Burn me alive if I'd not rather
Be torn by Furies than my Father.
I wish my Sister better luck,
Warn'd by my Sample how to truck.
Poor Monkey! 'twas no fault of thine;
It was thy Daddy's sin, and mine.
17
Dragg'd from the Cradle to the Gallows;
Where for my fault they did berave thee,
Nor was it in my power to save thee.
We did the Mischief, thou must bang for't;
I'll follow after, tho I hang for't.
And thou, my Comfort and Despair,
Be sure thou bury us with care:
To drop a Tear if thou'rt so civil,
Think for whose sake I'm gone to th'Devil.
And keep my Will be sure the rather,
'Cause I in this obey'd my Father.
Be sure thou bury us with care:
To drop a Tear if thou'rt so civil,
Think for whose sake I'm gone to th'Devil.
And keep my Will be sure the rather,
'Cause I in this obey'd my Father.
| The wits paraphras'd | |