But let me now my lovely charge remind,
Lest they forgetful leave their fans behind;
Lay not, ye fear, the pretty toy aside,
A toy at once display'd, for use and pride,
A wond'rous engine, that by magick charms,
Cools your own breast, and ev'ry other's warms.
What daring bard shall e'er attempt to tell
The pow'rs, that in this little weapon dwell?
What verse can e'er explain its various parts,
Its numerous uses, motions, charms and arts?
Its painted folds, that oft extended wide,
Th' afflicted fair one's blubber'd beauties hide,
When secret sorrows her sad bosom fill,
If STREPHON is unkind, or SHOCK is ill:
Its sticks, on which her eyes dejected pore,
And pointing fingers number o'er and o'er,
When the kind virgin burns with secret shame,
Dies to consent, yet fears to own her flame;
Its shake triumphant, its victorious clap,
Its angry slutter, and its wanton tap?