The Lady's Dressing Room
by Jonathan Swift
Five hours, (and who can do it less in?)
By haughty Celia spent in dressing;
The goddess from her chamber issues,
Arrayed in lace, brocades, and tissues.
Strephon, who found the room was void
And Betty otherwise employed,
Stole in and took a strict survey
Of all the litter as it lay;
Whereof, to make the matter clear,
An inventory follows here.
And first a dirty smock appeared,
Beneath the arm-pits well besmeared.
Strephon, the rogue, displayed it wide
And turned it round on every side.
On such a point few words are best,
And Strephon bids us guess the rest;
And swears how damnably the men lie
In calling Celia sweet and cleanly.
Now listen while he next produces
The various combs for various uses,
Filled up with dirt so closely fixt,
No brush could force a way betwixt.
A paste of composition rare,
Sweat, dandruff, powder, lead and hair;
A forehead cloth with oil upon't
To smooth the wrinkles on her front.
Here alum flower to stop the steams
Exhaled from sour unsavory streams;
There night-gloves made of Tripsy's hide,
Bequeath'd by Tripsy when she died,
With puppy water, beauty's help,
Distilled from Tripsy's darling whelp;
Here gallypots and vials placed,
Some filled with washes, some with paste,
Some with pomatum, paints and slops,
And ointments good for scabby chops.
Hard by a filthy basin stands,
Fouled with the scouring of her hands;
The basin takes whatever comes,
The scrapings of her teeth and gums,
A nasty compound of all hues,
For here she spits, and here she spews.
But oh! it turned poor Strephon's bowels,
When he beheld and smelt the towels,
Begummed, besmattered, and beslimed
With dirt, and sweat, and ear-wax grimed.
No object Strephon's eye escapes:
Here petticoats in frowzy heaps;
Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot
All varnished o'er with snuff and snot.
The stockings, why should I expose,
Stained with the marks of stinking toes;
Or greasy coifs and pinners reeking,
Which Celia slept at least a week in?
A pair of tweezers next he found
To pluck her brows in arches round,
Or hairs that sink the forehead low,
Or on her chin like bristles grow.
The virtues we must not let pass,
Of Celia's magnifying glass.
When frighted Strephon cast his eye on't
It shewed the visage of a giant.
A glass that can to sight disclose
The smallest worm in Celia's nose,
And faithfully direct her nail
To squeeze it out from head to tail;
(For catch it nicely by the head,
It must come out alive or dead.)
Why Strephon will you tell the rest?
And must you needs describe the chest?
That careless wench! no creature warn her
To move it out from yonder corner;
But leave it standing full in sight
For you to exercise your spite.
In vain, the workman shewed his wit
With rings and hinges counterfeit
To make it seem in this disguise
A cabinet to vulgar eyes;
For Strephon ventured to look in,
Resolved to go through thick and thin;
He lifts the lid, there needs no more:
He smelt it all the time before.
As from within Pandora's box,
When Epimetheus oped the locks,
A sudden universal crew
Of humane evils upwards flew,
He still was comforted to find
That Hope at last remained behind;
So Strephon lifting up the lid
To view what in the chest was hid,
The vapours flew from out the vent.
But Strephon cautious never meant
The bottom of the pan to grope
And foul his hands in search of Hope.
O never may such vile machine
Be once in Celia's chamber seen!
O may she better learn to keep
"Those secrets of the hoary deep"!
As mutton cutlets, prime of meat,
Which, though with art you salt and beat
As laws of cookery require
And toast them at the clearest fire,
If from adown the hopeful chops
The fat upon the cinder drops,
To stinking smoke it turns the flame
Poisoning the flesh from whence it came;
And up exhales a greasy stench
For which you curse the careless wench;
So things which must not be exprest,
When plumpt into the reeking chest,
Send up an excremental smell
To taint the parts from whence they fell,
The petticoats and gown perfume,
Which waft a stink round every room.
Thus finishing his grand survey,
Disgusted Strephon stole away
Repeating in his amorous fits,
Oh! Celia, Celia, Celia shits!
But vengeance, Goddess never sleeping,
Soon punished Strephon for his peeping:
His foul Imagination links
Each dame he see with all her stinks;
And, if unsavory odors fly,
Conceives a lady standing by.
All women his description fits,
And both ideas jump like wits
By vicious fancy coupled fast,
And still appearing in contrast.
I pity wretched Strephon blind
To all the charms of female kind.
Should I the Queen of Love refuse
Because she rose from stinking ooze?
To him that looks behind the scene
Satira's but some pocky queen.
When Celia in her glory shows,
If Strephon would but stop his nose
(Who now so impiously blasphemes
Her ointments, daubs, and paints and creams,
Her washes, slops, and every clout
With which he makes so foul a rout),
He soon would learn to think like me
And bless his ravished sight to see
Such order from confusion sprung,
Such gaudy tulips raised from dung.
Signior Dildo
by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester
You Ladyes all of Merry England
Who have been to kisse the Dutchesse's hand,
Pray did you lately observe in the Show
A Noble Italian call'd Signior Dildo?
The Signior was one of her Highness's Train
And helpt to Conduct her over the Main,
But now she Crys out to the Duke I will go,
I have no more need for Seignior Dildo.
At the Signe of the Crosse in Saint James's Street,
When next you go thither to make your Selfes Sweet,
By Buying of Powder, Gloves, Essence, or Soe
You may Chance get a Sight of Signior Dildo.
You'l take him at first for no Person of Note
Because he appears in a plain Leather Coat:
But when you his virtuous Abilities know
You'll fall down and Worship Signior Dildo.
My Lady Southesk, Heav'ns prosper her for't,
First Cloath'd him in Satten, then brought him to Court;
But his Head in the Circle, he Scarcely durst Show,
So modest a Youth was Signior Dildo.
The good Lady Suffolk thinking no harm,
Had got this poor Stranger hid under her Arm:
Lady Betty by Chance came the Secret to know,
And from her own Mother, Stole Signior Dildo:
The Countesse of Falmouth, of whom People tell
Her Footmen wear Shirts of a Guinea an Ell:
Might Save the Expence, if she did but know
How Lusty a Swinger is Signior Dildo.
By the Help of this Gallant the Countesse of Rafe
Against the feirce Harris preserv'd her Self Safe:
She Stifl'd him almost beneath her Pillow,
So Closely she imbrac'd Signior Dildo.
Our dainty fine Dutchesse's have got a Trick
To Doat on a Fool, for the Sake of his Prick,
The Fopps were undone, did their Graces but know
The Discretion and vigor of Signior Dildo.
That Pattern of Virtue, her Grace of Cleaveland,
Has Swallow'd more Pricks, then the Ocean has Sand,
But by Rubbing and Scrubbing, so large it do's grow,
It is fit for just nothing but Signior Dildo.
The Dutchesse of Modena, tho' she looks high,
With such a Gallant is contented to Lye:
And for fear the English her Secrets shou'd know,
For a Gentleman Usher took Signior Dildo.
The countess of the Cockpit (who knows not her Name)
She's famous in Story, for a Killing Dame:
When all her old Lovers forsake her I Trow
She'l then be contented with Signior Dildo.
Red Howard, Red Sheldon, and Temple so tall
Complain of his absence so long from Whitehall:
Signior Barnard has promis'd a Journy to goe,
And bring back his Countryman Signior Dildo.
Doll Howard no longer with his Highness must Range,
And therefore is profer'd this Civill Exchange:
Her Teeth being rotten, she Smells best below,
And needs must be fitted for Signior Dildo.
St Albans with Wrinkles and Smiles in his Face
Whose kindnesse to Strangers, becomes his high Place,
In his Coach and Six Horses is gone to Pergo,
To take the fresh Air with Signior Dildo.
Were this Signior but known to the Citizen Fopps
He'd keep their fine Wives from the Foremen of Shops,
But the Rascalls deserve their Horns shou'd Still grow,
For Burning the Pope, and his Nephew Dildo.
Tom Killigrews wife, North Hollands fine Flower,
At the Sight of this Signior, did fart, and Belch Sow'r,
And her Dutch Breeding farther to Show,
Says welcome to England, myn Heer Van Dildo.
He civilly came to the Cockpitt one night,
And profer'd his Service to fair Madam Knight,
Quoth she, I intrigue with Captain Cazzo
Your Nose in myne Arse good Seignior Dildo.
This Signior is sound, safe, ready, and Dumb,
As ever was Candle, Carret, or Thumb:
Then away with these nasty devices, and Show
How you rate the just merits of Signior Dildo.
Count Cazzo who carryes his Nose very high,
In Passion he Swore, his Rivall shou'd Dye,
Then Shutt up himself, to let the world know,
Flesh and Blood cou'd not bear it from Signior Dildo.
A Rabble of Pricks, who were welcome before,
Now finding the Porter deny'd 'em the Door,
Maliciously waited his coming below,
And inhumanely fell on Signior Dildo.
Nigh weary'd out, the poor Stranger did fly
And along the Pallmall, they follow'd full Cry,
The Women concern'd from every Window,
Cry'd, Oh! for Heavn's sake save Signior Dildo.
The good Lady Sandys, burst into a Laughter
To see how the Ballocks came wobbling after,
And had not their weight retarded the Fo
Indeed 't had gone hard with Signior Dildo.
Song
by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester
Love a woman? You're an ass.
'Tis a most insipid passion
To choose out for your happiness
The idlest part of God's creation.
Let the porter and the groom,
Things designed for dirty slaves,
Drudge in fair Aurelia's womb
To get supplies for age and graves.
Farewell, woman! I intend
Henceforth every night to sit
With my lewd, well-natured friend,
Drinking to engender wit.
Then give me health, wealth, mirth, and wind,
And if busy Love intrenches,
There's a sweet, soft page of mine
Does the trick worth forty wenches.
by Jonathan Swift
Five hours, (and who can do it less in?)
By haughty Celia spent in dressing;
The goddess from her chamber issues,
Arrayed in lace, brocades, and tissues.
Strephon, who found the room was void
And Betty otherwise employed,
Stole in and took a strict survey
Of all the litter as it lay;
Whereof, to make the matter clear,
An inventory follows here.
And first a dirty smock appeared,
Beneath the arm-pits well besmeared.
Strephon, the rogue, displayed it wide
And turned it round on every side.
On such a point few words are best,
And Strephon bids us guess the rest;
And swears how damnably the men lie
In calling Celia sweet and cleanly.
Now listen while he next produces
The various combs for various uses,
Filled up with dirt so closely fixt,
No brush could force a way betwixt.
A paste of composition rare,
Sweat, dandruff, powder, lead and hair;
A forehead cloth with oil upon't
To smooth the wrinkles on her front.
Here alum flower to stop the steams
Exhaled from sour unsavory streams;
There night-gloves made of Tripsy's hide,
Bequeath'd by Tripsy when she died,
With puppy water, beauty's help,
Distilled from Tripsy's darling whelp;
Here gallypots and vials placed,
Some filled with washes, some with paste,
Some with pomatum, paints and slops,
And ointments good for scabby chops.
Hard by a filthy basin stands,
Fouled with the scouring of her hands;
The basin takes whatever comes,
The scrapings of her teeth and gums,
A nasty compound of all hues,
For here she spits, and here she spews.
But oh! it turned poor Strephon's bowels,
When he beheld and smelt the towels,
Begummed, besmattered, and beslimed
With dirt, and sweat, and ear-wax grimed.
No object Strephon's eye escapes:
Here petticoats in frowzy heaps;
Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot
All varnished o'er with snuff and snot.
The stockings, why should I expose,
Stained with the marks of stinking toes;
Or greasy coifs and pinners reeking,
Which Celia slept at least a week in?
A pair of tweezers next he found
To pluck her brows in arches round,
Or hairs that sink the forehead low,
Or on her chin like bristles grow.
The virtues we must not let pass,
Of Celia's magnifying glass.
When frighted Strephon cast his eye on't
It shewed the visage of a giant.
A glass that can to sight disclose
The smallest worm in Celia's nose,
And faithfully direct her nail
To squeeze it out from head to tail;
(For catch it nicely by the head,
It must come out alive or dead.)
Why Strephon will you tell the rest?
And must you needs describe the chest?
That careless wench! no creature warn her
To move it out from yonder corner;
But leave it standing full in sight
For you to exercise your spite.
In vain, the workman shewed his wit
With rings and hinges counterfeit
To make it seem in this disguise
A cabinet to vulgar eyes;
For Strephon ventured to look in,
Resolved to go through thick and thin;
He lifts the lid, there needs no more:
He smelt it all the time before.
As from within Pandora's box,
When Epimetheus oped the locks,
A sudden universal crew
Of humane evils upwards flew,
He still was comforted to find
That Hope at last remained behind;
So Strephon lifting up the lid
To view what in the chest was hid,
The vapours flew from out the vent.
But Strephon cautious never meant
The bottom of the pan to grope
And foul his hands in search of Hope.
O never may such vile machine
Be once in Celia's chamber seen!
O may she better learn to keep
"Those secrets of the hoary deep"!
As mutton cutlets, prime of meat,
Which, though with art you salt and beat
As laws of cookery require
And toast them at the clearest fire,
If from adown the hopeful chops
The fat upon the cinder drops,
To stinking smoke it turns the flame
Poisoning the flesh from whence it came;
And up exhales a greasy stench
For which you curse the careless wench;
So things which must not be exprest,
When plumpt into the reeking chest,
Send up an excremental smell
To taint the parts from whence they fell,
The petticoats and gown perfume,
Which waft a stink round every room.
Thus finishing his grand survey,
Disgusted Strephon stole away
Repeating in his amorous fits,
Oh! Celia, Celia, Celia shits!
But vengeance, Goddess never sleeping,
Soon punished Strephon for his peeping:
His foul Imagination links
Each dame he see with all her stinks;
And, if unsavory odors fly,
Conceives a lady standing by.
All women his description fits,
And both ideas jump like wits
By vicious fancy coupled fast,
And still appearing in contrast.
I pity wretched Strephon blind
To all the charms of female kind.
Should I the Queen of Love refuse
Because she rose from stinking ooze?
To him that looks behind the scene
Satira's but some pocky queen.
When Celia in her glory shows,
If Strephon would but stop his nose
(Who now so impiously blasphemes
Her ointments, daubs, and paints and creams,
Her washes, slops, and every clout
With which he makes so foul a rout),
He soon would learn to think like me
And bless his ravished sight to see
Such order from confusion sprung,
Such gaudy tulips raised from dung.
Signior Dildo
by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester
You Ladyes all of Merry England
Who have been to kisse the Dutchesse's hand,
Pray did you lately observe in the Show
A Noble Italian call'd Signior Dildo?
The Signior was one of her Highness's Train
And helpt to Conduct her over the Main,
But now she Crys out to the Duke I will go,
I have no more need for Seignior Dildo.
At the Signe of the Crosse in Saint James's Street,
When next you go thither to make your Selfes Sweet,
By Buying of Powder, Gloves, Essence, or Soe
You may Chance get a Sight of Signior Dildo.
You'l take him at first for no Person of Note
Because he appears in a plain Leather Coat:
But when you his virtuous Abilities know
You'll fall down and Worship Signior Dildo.
My Lady Southesk, Heav'ns prosper her for't,
First Cloath'd him in Satten, then brought him to Court;
But his Head in the Circle, he Scarcely durst Show,
So modest a Youth was Signior Dildo.
The good Lady Suffolk thinking no harm,
Had got this poor Stranger hid under her Arm:
Lady Betty by Chance came the Secret to know,
And from her own Mother, Stole Signior Dildo:
The Countesse of Falmouth, of whom People tell
Her Footmen wear Shirts of a Guinea an Ell:
Might Save the Expence, if she did but know
How Lusty a Swinger is Signior Dildo.
By the Help of this Gallant the Countesse of Rafe
Against the feirce Harris preserv'd her Self Safe:
She Stifl'd him almost beneath her Pillow,
So Closely she imbrac'd Signior Dildo.
Our dainty fine Dutchesse's have got a Trick
To Doat on a Fool, for the Sake of his Prick,
The Fopps were undone, did their Graces but know
The Discretion and vigor of Signior Dildo.
That Pattern of Virtue, her Grace of Cleaveland,
Has Swallow'd more Pricks, then the Ocean has Sand,
But by Rubbing and Scrubbing, so large it do's grow,
It is fit for just nothing but Signior Dildo.
The Dutchesse of Modena, tho' she looks high,
With such a Gallant is contented to Lye:
And for fear the English her Secrets shou'd know,
For a Gentleman Usher took Signior Dildo.
The countess of the Cockpit (who knows not her Name)
She's famous in Story, for a Killing Dame:
When all her old Lovers forsake her I Trow
She'l then be contented with Signior Dildo.
Red Howard, Red Sheldon, and Temple so tall
Complain of his absence so long from Whitehall:
Signior Barnard has promis'd a Journy to goe,
And bring back his Countryman Signior Dildo.
Doll Howard no longer with his Highness must Range,
And therefore is profer'd this Civill Exchange:
Her Teeth being rotten, she Smells best below,
And needs must be fitted for Signior Dildo.
St Albans with Wrinkles and Smiles in his Face
Whose kindnesse to Strangers, becomes his high Place,
In his Coach and Six Horses is gone to Pergo,
To take the fresh Air with Signior Dildo.
Were this Signior but known to the Citizen Fopps
He'd keep their fine Wives from the Foremen of Shops,
But the Rascalls deserve their Horns shou'd Still grow,
For Burning the Pope, and his Nephew Dildo.
Tom Killigrews wife, North Hollands fine Flower,
At the Sight of this Signior, did fart, and Belch Sow'r,
And her Dutch Breeding farther to Show,
Says welcome to England, myn Heer Van Dildo.
He civilly came to the Cockpitt one night,
And profer'd his Service to fair Madam Knight,
Quoth she, I intrigue with Captain Cazzo
Your Nose in myne Arse good Seignior Dildo.
This Signior is sound, safe, ready, and Dumb,
As ever was Candle, Carret, or Thumb:
Then away with these nasty devices, and Show
How you rate the just merits of Signior Dildo.
Count Cazzo who carryes his Nose very high,
In Passion he Swore, his Rivall shou'd Dye,
Then Shutt up himself, to let the world know,
Flesh and Blood cou'd not bear it from Signior Dildo.
A Rabble of Pricks, who were welcome before,
Now finding the Porter deny'd 'em the Door,
Maliciously waited his coming below,
And inhumanely fell on Signior Dildo.
Nigh weary'd out, the poor Stranger did fly
And along the Pallmall, they follow'd full Cry,
The Women concern'd from every Window,
Cry'd, Oh! for Heavn's sake save Signior Dildo.
The good Lady Sandys, burst into a Laughter
To see how the Ballocks came wobbling after,
And had not their weight retarded the Fo
Indeed 't had gone hard with Signior Dildo.
Song
by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester
Love a woman? You're an ass.
'Tis a most insipid passion
To choose out for your happiness
The idlest part of God's creation.
Let the porter and the groom,
Things designed for dirty slaves,
Drudge in fair Aurelia's womb
To get supplies for age and graves.
Farewell, woman! I intend
Henceforth every night to sit
With my lewd, well-natured friend,
Drinking to engender wit.
Then give me health, wealth, mirth, and wind,
And if busy Love intrenches,
There's a sweet, soft page of mine
Does the trick worth forty wenches.
ari:
Wonderful.