Ithappened that our fair one evening said,
          To her who of each infant step had led,
          But of the present secret nothing knew:—­
          I feel unwell; pray tell me what to do. 
          The other answered, you my dear must take
          A remedy that easily I’ll make,
          A clyster you shall have to-morrow morn: 
          By me most willingly it will be borne.

          Whenmidnight came the sly gallant appeared,
          Unluckily no doubt, but he revered
          The moments that so pleasantly were passed,
          Which always seemed, he thought, to glide too fast;
          Relief he sought, for ev’ry one below
          Is destined torments more or less to know. 
          He not a word was told of things designed,
          And just as our gallant to sleep inclined,
          As oft’s the case at length with lovers true,
          Quite open bright Aurora’s portals flew,
          And with a smile the aged dame arrived;
          The apparatus properly contrived,
          Was in her hand, she hastened to the bed,
          And took the side that to the stripling led.

          Ourlady fair was instantly confused,
          Or she precaution properly had used,
          ’Twas easy to have kept a steady face,
          And ’neath the clothes the other’s head to place. 
          Pass presently beyond the hidden swain,
          And t’other side with rapid motion gain,
          A thing quite natural, we should suppose;
          But fears o’erpow’red; the frightened damsel chose
          To hide herself, then whispered her gallant,
          What mighty terrors made her bosom pant. 
          The youth was sage, and coolly undertook
          To offer for her:—­t’other ’gan to look,
          With spectacles on nose:  soon all went right;
          Adieu, she cried, and then withdrew from sight. 
          Heav’n guard her steps, and all conduct away,
          Whose presence secret friendships would betray: 

          Shouldthis be thought a silly, idle tale;
          (And that opinion may perhaps prevail)
          To censure me, enough will surely try,
          For criticks are severe, and these will cry,
          Your lady like a simpleton escaped;
          Her character you better might have shaped;
          Which makes us doubt the truth of what is told: 
          Naught in your prologue like it we behold.

          ’Tweresueless to reply:  ’twould endless prove: 
          No arguments such censurers could move;
          On men like these, devoid of sense or taste,
          In vain might Cicero his rhet’rick waste. 
          Sufficient ’tis for me, that what is here,
          I got from those who ev’ry-where appear
          The friends of truth:—­let others say the same;
          What more would they expect should be my aim?