On The D—Ss Of R—D.

ON THE D—SS OF R—D.

BY THE SAME.

WHAT do scholars, and bards, and astronomers wise, Mean by stuffing our heads with nonsense and lies; By telling us Venus must always appear In a car, or a shell, or a twinkling star; Drawn by sparrows, or swans, or dolphins, or doves, Attended in form by the graces and loves: That ambrosia and nectar is all she will taste, And her passport to hearts on a belt round her waist?

Without all this bustle I saw the bright dame, To supper last night to P—y's she came In a good warm sedan; no fine open car; Two chairmen her doves, and a flambeau her star; No nectar she drank, no ambrosia she eat; Her cup was plain claret, a chicken her meat: Nor wanted a cestus her bosom to grace, For R—d, that night, had lent her her face.