Anonymous: The Power of Mesmerism

"Here's another fine burlesque poem I'll read, if you don't mind," continued Frank, "it's called 'Vulcan and Venus.'"

VULCAN AND VENUS

Says Vulcan to Venus, "Pray where have you been?" "Abroad," cries the Goddess, "to see and be seen." "I fear," says the blacksmith, "you lead an ill life, Tho' a Goddess, I doubt you're a bitch of a wife." "Why, how now," cries Venus, "altho' you're my spouse, If you bitch me, you brute, have a care of your brows; Why sure you don't think, I, the Goddess of Beauty, By dint of ill language, will prove the more true t'ye; Be civil, you'd best, or I vow by my placket, I'll make the god Mars bastinado your jacket!" "Are you there with your bears?" Smung replies to his Hussey. "Does Mars still refresh your old Furbilo, does he; I feel by my forehead a coat that is scarlet, Of all kinds of baits, is the best for a harlot; For beauty, I find, as 'tis commonly said, Will nibble like fish at a rag that is red; But Hussey, tell me any more of your Mars, And I'll run a hot bar in your Goddesship's arse; I fear not your threats, there's a fart for your bully, No whore in the Heavens shall make me her cully!" "You run a hot bar in my bum," quoth the dame, "Its a sign you've a mighty respect for the same; If your love be so little as to abuse it, I'll keep it for those who know better to use it; I'm certain no Goddess that values her honour, Would bear the indignities you put upon her, And not from that minute resolve out of spite, To improve your old horns till they hang in your light." "You're an impudent slut," cries the smung at his bellows, "And I the unhappiest of all marry'd fellows: I know you have made me a ram, I have seen it, I catch'd you, you Whore, in the critical minute, Fast lock'd in the arms of your lecherous God, Whilst his brawny posteriors went niddity nod; And you, like a Slut, lay as pleased and contented, As if every joint of your body consented; Altho' when you found you were spy'd by your buck, Then you struggl'd and strove like a pig that is stuck, And dismounting your God, would have made your escape, But I saw by your actions it could be no rape; Tho' when you first heard, by my patting-shoe tread, My approach to your Whoreship's adulterous bed, I know you'd have flown with your coats and your bodice, And afterwards vow'd 'twas some other lewd Goddess; But my net was too strong, it prevented your flying, And so put a stop to your swearing and lying. Besides, that the Gods might behold what a Slut Of a Beautiful Queen they amongst them had got, I call'd 'em about, that their Honours might stand, And be pimps to your Goddesship's bus'ness in hand, That in case you the truth shou'd hereafter deny, I might call the whole Heavens to witness you lie." "And what did you get?" cries the amorous dame, "For the pains that you took, but a Cuckoldy Name; 'Tis true you're confirmed you've a Whore for your wife, Pray is that any comfort or ease to your life; And have made it appear to the Gods as a jest, That your wife's reputation is none of the best; Does that make your labour more easy or sweet, Or give you more gust to your drink or your meat? 'Tis true, you are fam'd for the net you have made, Pray what did you catch in't but horns for your head; You know that your rival don't value a trap, Or a net, any more than a child or a clap; A soldier is never asham'd of his vices, But rather is proud of a Goddess's kisses; And thinks it adds more to a hero's renown, To subdue a fair lady than conquer a town; Your spite must be therefore intended alone, Against me, and that my little faults might be known; Since 'tis as it is, I am very well pleas'd, Your head shall be loaded, my tail shall be eas'd; For since you have publish'd my shame and disgrace, And have made me a jest to the heavenly race; I'll be impudent now, and whenever I meet, My dear favourite Mars, tho' it be in the street; If a bulk be but near, I will never more dally, He shall, if it pleases him, ay marry shall he; Thus all you shall get by your open detection, Of one silly error in female affection, Is a wife that will cuckold you worse out of spite, Now she's catch'd, than before she e're did for delight; To punish thy head and heart, that very vice, Which I us'd but in private whilst honour was nice; I'll publickly now practice over and o'er, Till thou'rt fain'd for a Cuckold and I for a Whore." Cries Vulcan, "Could ever man think that a Goddess, Admir'd for her charms by such numbers of noddies, Should ever be curst with so rampant a tail, That will wallow more love-sap, than I can do ale; A pox on your rump, for I plainly see 'tis As salt as your parents, Oceanus and Tethys. But had I first known you had sprung from salt water, The Devil for me, should have marry'd the daughter; Besides, you are grown both so lustful and bold, And for all your sweet looks, have a Billingsgate tongue, That is fifty times worse than a fishwoman's hung. If these be the plagues of a beautiful wife, O ease me, Great Jove, of so cursed a life; If La Pies divine, who inhabit the Heavens, Will Whore on like mortals, at sixes and sevens; Rave, rattle, and taunt at their horrify'd spouses, And ramble abitching thro' all the twelve houses; For all your fine features I'll e'en give you over, The charms of a Whore are but plagues to a lover. Get you gone and be pox'd, to your old bully Mars, Let a God be a slave to your Goddesship's A-s; Whilst I'm contempt of your infamous rump, On my anvil will knock, with a thump, a thump-thump!"

The second day after Frank had read these curious old bits to his parents and sister, they were all delighted by the arrival of young Harry Mortimer to spend a day with his old school-mate.

To judge by appearances Mr. Etheridge had every cause for the curious desires he had confessed to, two days before. Harry was a really handsome youth of seventeen, with golden coloured hair, the bloom of the peach on his cheeks, and a most loveable pair of deep blue eyes which seemed full of the humid fire of love. He had also a finely developed form, which his close-fitting garments set off to the best advantage, and, above all, what had the most charm for the eyes of his friends as they so heartily welcomed him to their house was the evident precocity of his organs of love, which in their quiescent state showed a most prominent lump in his trousers.

Mrs. Etheridge: "Why Harry, what a fine fellow you have grown since I saw you a year ago. No doubt you are too bashful to kiss Ethel now, but you will surely embrace an old friend like me, who used to nurse you in my arms as a baby," giving him such an amorous hug and smack upon his cheeks that the young fellow blushed up to his eyes.

After luncheon Frank took Harry for a walk, and asking him if he would like to look at their horses, they bent their steps to the stables where the groom Thomas, a fine handsome young fellow of about twenty, was polishing the coats of his charges, at the same time as he emitted that curious hissing which all stablemen so mysteriously accustom themselves to when busy over their work. He did not see the two young gentlemen till they had been watching his operations for a few seconds, but as soon as he did so, respectfully touched his cap and asked them to look at his horses.

Walking into the stable, Thomas, cap in hand, respectfully pointed out all the perfections of his pets and the neatness of all the appointments. Then he conducted them into the harness room, which was at the top of a short flight of stairs.

Thomas was about to close an interior door, which half open gave a view into his own private quarters, when, a sudden idea striking him, Frank said, "You won't mind, Thomas, if we take a peep into your sanctum-unless you have got a young lady you would rather we did not see. I only want to let Mr. Mortimer see how cosy your room is, besides, you know, I have often had a sly smoke with you there on wet days when I was home for the holidays before, and I know you have always got some nice clean glasses in your cupboard, if not anything better than water to offer us. But I have taken care of that and brought a good flask of finest brandy. I got the housekeeper to give me some of papa's real vieux cognac. It's ever so old and goes down like milk. Just the thing, Thomas, to keep you up to your work when you have a nice girl. But I forget you never do anything of the sort, eh! How about little Lucy, the under-housemaid, who I hear had to go home with a big belly not long ago?"