THE nun's adventure I in verse have told, But not in colours, like the action, bold; And as the story in the picture fails, The latter seems to lose in my details. The pen and brush express not quite the same; Eyes are not ears, however we may aim.
ENTANGLED in the net, I long have left The fair Theresa, of her throne bereft; Howe'er, this sister had her turn we find, So much to please, the porter was inclined, That both were satisfied, and felt content; Here ends our tale, and truly I lament, That not a word about the feast is said, Though I've no doubt, they freely drank and fed; And this for reasons easily conceived: The interlude gave rest that much relieved. In fine, 'twas well throughout, except, in truth, The hour of meeting settled with the youth, Which much embarrasses I will avow, For if he never came and made his bow, The sisters had the means, when they might please, Completely to console themselves at ease; And if the spark appeared, the belles could hide Both clown and chair, or any thing beside The lover what he wanted soon possessed, And was as usual treated with the best.
A FAMOUS painter, jealous of his wife; Whose charms he valued more than fame or life, When going on a journey used his art, To paint an ASS upon a certain part, (Umbilical, 'tis said) and like a seal: Impressive token, nothing thence to steal.
A BROTHER brush, enamoured of the dame; Now took advantage, and declared his flame: The Ass effaced, but God knows how 'twas done; Another soon howe'er he had begun, And finished well, upon the very spot; In painting, few more praises ever got; But want of recollection made him place A saddle, where before he none could trace.
THE husband, when returned, desired to look At what he drew, when leave he lately took. Yes, see my dear, the wily wife replied, The Ass is witness, faithful I abide. Zounds! said the painter, when he got a sight,-- What!--you'd persuade me ev'ry thing is right? I wish the witness you display so well, And him who saddled it, were both in Hell.
WHEN William went from home (a trader styled): Six months his better half he left with child, A simple, comely, modest, youthful dame, Whose name was Alice; from Champaign she came. Her neighbour Andrew visits now would pay; With what intention, needless 'tis to say: A master who but rarely spread his net, But, first or last, with full success he met; And cunning was the bird that 'scaped his snare; Without surrendering a feather there.