Doodle Doo

YOUNGLINGS fond of Female Chaces,
Mount on Hopes in Wedlock's Races,
Some for Fortune, some for Faces.
Doodle, doodle, doo, &c.

Oh! th' extatic joys which flow, Sir,
When two souls congenial glow, Sir,
This above, and that below, Sir.

Each 'gainst each, like Wrestlers, twining,
Each with each engagement joining,
Now resisting, now resigning.

When imparadis'd they're pairing,
Ev'ry nerve stretch'd to its bearing,
Hardly knowing what nor wherein.

Fainting, panting—pulses thrilling—
She—obedient waits, and willing,
But he's out of breath with billing.

Fain the Fair wou'd fondly dally,
Looking Love—but he don't rally,
Rather seeming—shilly shally.

Kissing, smiling, she cries—so! so!
Go you naughty creature, go! go!
While he yawns out—ah!—ah!—oh! oh!

This indeed too oft the case is,
Men will furious fall on Faces,
Then fall off into Disgraces.

All the work they make with wooings,
Couplings, changings, cursings, cooings,
Are but doodling doodle doings.

Falling back, then falling to, Sir,
We, like babies, beauties woo, Sir,
Love is—Cock a doodle do, Sir.
Doodle, doodle, doo, &c.