The Picture

WISHING well to good folks, both on this and that,
By my own fire-side, with my Lass,
Not yawning, nor mute, but in spiritful chat,
To Old England I took off my glass.

The next to my King; and the third was a Joke,
Of all places I toasted The Best;
She seem'd not to hear, but her cheeks blushes spoke
The Wanton my Sentiment guess'd.

Her bosom I press'd, to my lips it arose,
The crimson still flushing her face;
With love-lisping laugh, she replied, "I suppose
"You presume I can guess at the place."

I answer'd, but first for my Fee took a Kiss,
"Where the Temple of Love we attend.
"Beauty's columns begin at the Fountain of Bliss;
"In tapering outlines they end.

"On the top, at the Arch of Enjoyment unite,
"Curl'd tendrils the Pediment grace;
"For Cupid's Pantheon, the Shaft of Delight
"Must spring from the Masculine Base.

"If the Lady of this perfect Mansion you'll see,"
As I spoke, gave my hand to the Lass,
"Oh, by all means" she said;—"then my dear come with me;"
So I led my Girl up to the glass.

Off she turn'd, with a pshah! yet no anger exprest,
Good-breeding scorns Prudery's skreen;
'Mong our dinner-time toasts, when we drink to the Best,
We only most excellent mean.

Remember, my Bucks, when you're aiming at Jokes
Be sure make the most of a Jest;
Not like the assembly of impotent folks,
Who prove themselves, — bad at the best.

Our Youths in their waists are now scarcely a span,
An insensible, expletive crew;
When Loveliness weds one, in hopes of a Man,
'Tis the worst thing a Lady can do.

Here's to Beauty a Toast, sir, but not Face alone,
Lower yet lies the Circle of Grace;
Beneath, where in centre Love buckles her Zone,
The Point of Attraction we place.

Let our Bottles, like globes, have elliptical sweep;
Geometrists mind what I say,
May beautiful Parallels distances keep,
To give Perpendiculars way.