A----s Kiss,"
says Juno, "you shall have a couple. I'd have you to know, Queen of
Sluts, I defie you, And all you can say, or the bully that's by you.
And as for that Tomboy that boasts she can wield, In quarrels and
brangles, her lance and her shield, That never yet tasted the heavenly
blessing, But always lov'd fighting, much better than kissing: I know
she'd be glad to be ravish'd by force, By some lusty God, that's as
strong as a horse. But who'd be so forward, unless he was tipsie, To
choose for a miss, such a masculine gipsie? A termagant dowdy, a nasty
old maid; Who flights copulation, as if she was spay'd: Which makes me
believe, that under her bodice, She wants the dear gem, that's the
pride of a Goddess." Now Pallas, enrag'd at so high a reflection, Cry'd
out, "I thank Jove, I am made in perfection, And ev'ry thing have, from
a hole to a hair, Becoming the Goddess of Wisdom and War; As Paris well
knew, when he took a survey, Of those parts where a Goddess's
excellence lay; Who strok'd it and smil'd, when my legs he had parted,
And peep'd till I thought his poor eyes would have started. Then
licking his lips, did aver to be true, I was each way as full well
accomplish'd as you. Indeed, Madam Juno, I'll therefore be plain, If
ever I hear these reflections again: I vow as a Goddess, and no mortal
sinner, I shall have no patience, but handle your pinner." With that
the Great Jupiter rose up in hot anger, And looking on Pallas, was
ready to bang her. "Pox take ye," says he, "is your scolding a lecture,
That ought to be preach'd o'er a bowl of good nectar? To drink we came
hither, to sing and be civil; As gods, to be merry, and not play the
devil. Why, mortals on earth, that live crowded in allies, As
laundresses, porters, poor strumpets and bullies; When got o'er a
gallon of belch, or a sneaker Of punch, could not wrangle more over
their liquor. And you that are Goddesses, thus to be squabbling, As if
you were bred up to scow'ring and dabbling! And all for a fig, or a
fart, or a feather, Or some silly thing that's as trivial as either!
For shame, my Fair Goddesses, bridle your passions, And make not in
heaven such filthy orations About your bumfiddles; a very fine jest!
When the heavens all know, they but stink at the best. Tho' ye think
you much mend with your washes the matter, And help the ill-scent with
your orange flower water; But when you've done all, 'tis but playing
the fool, And like stifling a T----d, in