From The bacchanalian magazine; and Cyprian enchantress, pp36-7, 1793.
THE WARM DISPUTE.
Tune--I ne'er will go abroad, &c. (Linco's Travels)
Four lovely lasses gay and bright, Sat snug within a grove, All thought themselves secure from sight, And freely talk'd of love. Whilst I in covert of the shade, In silent pleasure hid, Could hear each word the fair ones said, And see whate'er they did. The partial girls with witty pride, A warm dispute began; Contesting which was best supply'd With 'that' that pleases man. But in this great and nice affair, Mere words were not enough; And each by ornamental hair, Would bring it to a proof. Maria, precious black-ey'd maid! Pull'd up her coats and shift; And with exulting pride display'd, Dame Nature's bounteous gift. Her lovely, all-alluring 'tuff' Was black, and near as big As any northern Monarch's muff, Or Baron Hotham's wig! 'This, this,' said she, 'shall be your queen, 'For I can justly boast; ''Tis 'this' alone the men do mean, 'When to the 'best' they toast.' Fair Cloe smil'd, and thus she spoke: 'I'll not to Polly yield;' Then up she drew her lily smock, And all her charms reveal'd. To tell the beauties of the 'place', How weak is human tongue; The noble fringes which it grace, In golden ringlets hung. Eliza next disclos'd her 'parts', And shew'd her circling hair; The vanquisher of mortal hearts, Gods! what sight was there. The luscious curling nut brown geer, Which grew on belly high, Did like a sumptuous arch appear, And reach'd from thigh to thigh. 'See here, my girls,' Eliza cry'd, 'And shall it e'er be spoke, 'That Bess has been as yet outvy'd, 'By 'black' and 'yellow joke?' 'Tis 'this' can make the hero droop, And tame the stoutest fellow; And therefore know I scorn to stoop To 'sable' or to 'sallow'. Now ev'ry charming tempting she, Who had already shewn; With furious eye survey'd the three, And boasted of her own. While pretty Kitty pensive sat, 'Twixt envy and despair, So young, Dame Nature had not yet Been 'li'bral' to the fair. The little nymph unveil'd the 'place', Her 'secret' for to shew; But all was smooth as Kitty's face, And white as mountain snow. Each mocking dame the girl did twit, And each her own extoll'd; And with exulting, ill-tim'd wit, Cry'd, 'Kitty, thou art bald!' Kate bow'd her head as low as thigh, Regardless of their jeers; She gaz'd a while with earnest eyes, And cry'd, 'Indeed I've hairs. 'See Polly, Cloe, Betsy, see, 'They may be plainly spy'd, 'If you'll but just be rul'd by me, 'And cast a glance aside.' Although no 'fur' as yet did spring, On that which Kitty wore; I thought the pretty 'pouting thing', The sweetest of the four. I through the hedge would have been, My case was here as bad, As Tantalus up to the chin, With apples o'er his head. For had I through the briars gone, I knew not what to say; So took my fill of looking on, And slily sneak'd away.