Five Hours, (and who can do it less in?) |
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By haughty Celia spent in Dressing; |
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The Goddess from her Chamber issues, |
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Array’d° in Lace, Brocades and Tissues. |
decked out |
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Strephon, who found
the Room was void, [5] |
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And Betty° otherwise employ’d; |
maidservant’s name |
Stole° in, and took a strict Survey, |
sneaked |
Of all the Litter as it lay; |
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Whereof, to make the Matter clear, |
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An Inventory follows here. [10] |
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And first a dirty Smock° appear’d, |
underwear |
Beneath the Arm-pits well besmear’d. |
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Strephon, the Rogue, display’d it wide, |
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And turn’d it round on every Side. |
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On such a Point few Words are best, [15] |
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And Strephon bids us guess the rest; |
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But swears how damnably the Men lie, |
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In calling Celia sweet and cleanly. |
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Now listen while he next produces, |
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The various Combs for various Uses, [20] |
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Fill’d up with Dirt so closely fixt, |
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No Brush could force a way betwixt.° |
between |
A Paste of Composition rare, |
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Sweat, Dandriff, Powder, Lead and Hair; |
lead was used as a cosmetic |
A Forehead Cloth with Oyl upon’t [25] |
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To smooth the Wrinkles on her Front;° |
forehead |
Here Allum Flower° to stop the Steams, |
antiperspirant powder |
Exhal’d from sour unsavoury Streams, |
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There Night-gloves made of Tripsy’s° Hide, |
lapdog’s name |
Bequeath’d by Tripsy when she dy’d, [30] |
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With Puppy Water,° Beauty’s Help |
moisturizer made from dead puppies |
Distill’d from Tripsy’s darling Whelp;° |
puppy |
Here Gallypots° and Vials plac’d, |
jars |
Some fill’d with washes, some with Paste, |
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Some with Pomatum,° Paints and Slops, [35] |
hair cream |
And Ointments good for scabby Chops. |
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Hard by° a filthy Bason stands, |
nearby |
Fowl’d with the Scouring of her Hands; |
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The Bason takes whatever comes |
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The Scrapings of her Teeth and Gums, [40] |
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A nasty Compound of all Hues, |
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For here she spits, and here she spues.° |
spews |
But oh! it turn’d poor Strephon’s Bowels, |
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When he beheld and smelt the Towels, |
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Begumm’d, bematter’d, and beslim’d [45] |
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With Dirt, and Sweat, and Ear-Wax grim’d. |
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No Object Strephon’s Eye escapes, |
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Here Pettycoats° in frowzy° Heaps; |
underwear — messy |
Nor be the Handkerchiefs forgot |
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All varnish’d o’er with Snuff and Snot. [50] |
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The Stockings, why shou’d I expose, |
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Stain’d with the Marks of stinking Toes; |
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Or greasy Coifs and Pinners° reeking, |
night caps |
Which Celia slept at least a Week in? |
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A Pair of Tweezers next he found [55] |
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To pluck her Brows in Arches round, |
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Or Hairs that sink the Forehead low, |
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Or on her Chin like Bristles grow. |
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The Virtues we must not let pass, |
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Of Celia’s magnifying Glass.° [60] |
mirror |
When frighted Strephon cast his Eye on’t |
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It shew’d the Visage° of a Gyant. |
face |
A Glass that can to Sight disclose, |
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The smallest Worm in Celia’s Nose, |
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And faithfully direct her Nail [65] |
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To squeeze it out from Head to Tail; |
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For catch it nicely by the Head, |
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It must come out alive or dead. |
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Why Strephon will you tell the rest? |
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And must you needs° describe the Chest? [70] |
do you have to |
That careless Wench! no Creature warn her |
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To move it out from yonder Corner; |
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But leave it standing full in Sight |
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For you to exercise your Spight. |
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In vain, the Workman shew’d his Wit [75] |
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With Rings and Hinges counterfeit |
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To make it seem in this Disguise, |
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A Cabinet to vulgar° Eyes; |
common |
For Strephon ventur’d to look in, |
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Resolv’d to go thro’ thick and thin; [80] |
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He lifts the Lid, there needs no more, |
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He smelt it all the Time before. |
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As from within Pandora’s Box, |
mythological source of all evils |
When Epimetheus op’d the Locks, |
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A sudden universal Crew [85] |
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Of humane Evils upwards flew; |
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He still was comforted to find |
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That Hope at last remain’d behind; |
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So Strephon lifting up the Lid, |
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To view what in the Chest was hid. [90] |
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The Vapours flew from out the Vent, |
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But Strephon cautious never meant |
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The Bottom of the Pan to grope, |
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And fowl his Hands in Search of Hope. |
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O never may such vile Machine° [95] |
device |
Be once in Celia’s Chamber seen! |
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O may she better learn to keep |
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“Those Secrets of the hoary deep!” |
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As Mutton Cutlets, Prime of Meat, |
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Which tho’ with Art° you salt and beat, [100] |
skill |
As Laws of Cookery require, |
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And toast them at the clearest Fire; |
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If from adown the hopeful Chops |
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The Fat upon a Cinder drops, |
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To stinking Smoak it turns the Flame [105] |
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Pois’ning the Flesh from whence it came; |
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And up exhales a greasy Stench, |
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For which you curse the careless Wench; |
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So Things, which must not be exprest, |
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When plumpt° into the reeking Chest; [110] |
dropped |
Send up an excremental Smell |
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To taint the Parts from whence they fell. |
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The Pettycoats and Gown perfume, |
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Which waft a Stink round every Room. |
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Thus finishing his grand Survey, [115] |
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Disgusted Strephon stole° away |
sneaked |
Repeating in his amorous Fits, |
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Oh! Celia, Celia, Celia shits! |
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But Vengeance, Goddess never sleeping |
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Soon punish’d Strephon for his Peeping; [120] |
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His foul Imagination links |
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Each Dame he sees with all her Stinks: |
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And, if unsav’ry° Odours fly, |
disgusting |
Conceives° a Lady standing by: |
imagines |
All Women his Description fits, [125] |
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And both Idea’s jump like Wits: |
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By vicious Fancy° coupled fast, |
imagination |
And still appearing in Contrast. |
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I pity wretched Strephon blind |
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To all the Charms of Female Kind; [130] |
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Should I the Queen of Love refuse, |
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Because she rose from stinking Ooze? |
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To him that looks behind the Scene, |
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Statira’s but some pocky Quean.° |
diseased slut |
When Celia in her Glory shows, [135] |
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If Strephon would but stop his Nose; |
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(Who now so impiously blasphemes |
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Her Ointments, Daubs, and Paints and Creams, |
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Her Washes, Slops, and every Clout,° |
rag |
With which he makes so foul a Rout;)
[140] |
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He soon would learn to think like me, |
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And bless his ravisht° Sight to see |
carried away |
Such Order from Confusion sprung, |
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Such gaudy Tulips rais’d from Dung. |
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