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Lo! in my shirt, on you these eyes I fix, Admiring much the quaintness of your tricks; Your friskings, crawlings, squalls, I much
approve : Your spittings, pawings, high-rais’d rumps, Swell’d tails, and Merry-Andrew jumps,
With the wild minstrelsy of rapt'rous love.
How sweetly roll your gooseb'rry eyes,
But all the moon-light world seems made for
Singers of Israel ! You no parsons want
To tie the matrimonial cord;
You call the matrimonial service cant-
On no one ceremony pleas’d to fix-
You want no furniture, alas !
Spit, spoon, dish, frying-pan, or ladle; No iron, pewter, copper, tin, or brass;
Nor nurses, wet or dry, nor cradle, Which custom, for our Christian babes, enjoins, To rock the staring offspring of your loins.
Nor of the lawyers you have need,
Ye males, before you seek your bed, To settle pin-money on Madam:
No fears of cuckoldom, -Heav'n bless ye!
Are ever harbour'd to distress ye, Tormenting people since the days of Adam.
No schools you want for fine behaving,
No powdering, painting, washing, shaving, No night-caps snug, no trouble in undressing,
Before you seek your strawy nest,
Pleas'd in each other's arms to rest,
Good Gods! Ye sweet love-chanting rams!
hams To mount a house, to scale a chimney-top;
And, peeping down the chimney's hole,
Pour, in a tuneful cry, th' empassion'd soul, Inviting Miss Grimalkin to come up.
Who, sweet obliging female, far from coy,
And scorning ’midst the ashes more to mope,
Without th' assistance of a rope.
Dear mousing tribe, my limbs are waxing cold
Singers of Israel sweet, adieu, adieu! I do suppose you need not now be told,
How much I wish that I was one of you.
IMITATION OF CATULLUS.
WHY will my wanton maid inquire,
kisses I desire ?
ON LORD NELSON,
RETIR'D from tumult and the public care,