"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!"