THE garden-path, and summer-house as well, Were well remembered by each wanton belle; No need of guides; and soon our spark contrived; With sister Agnes also to be hived A press-house at the convent end he chose, in which he showed her how soft pleasure flows; Nor Claudia nor Angelica would miss The dormitory that, and cellar this; In short the garret and the vaulted cave Knew fully how the sisters could behave; Not one but what he first or last regaled E'en with the rigid abbess he prevailed, To take a dance, and as the dame required Her treble share of what was most admired, The other nuns were oft obliged to fast, While with the convent-head his time was passed.
To no restoratives our Wight would run; Though these do little, where much work is done: So oft the lad was pressed for cheering play, That with the abbess, when engaged one day, He said, where'er I go, 'tis common talk, With only sev'n an able bird should walk, Yet constantly I've got no less than nine:-- The abbess cried,--A miracle divine! Here nuns, pray haste, and quickly come around; We've fasted with success:--his tongue is found. The eight encircled him with great surprise; No longer dumb.--they viewed with eager eyes: A consultation instantly was had, When 'twas agreed to honour well the lad, And try to make him secrecy observe; But if dismissed, from silence he might swerve. The active youth, well fed, well paid, thus blessed, Did all he could,--and others did the rest. He for the nuns procured a little lot, That afterward two little friars got, And in the sequel fathers soon became; The sisters mothers too, in spite of shame; But never name more justly was applied: In vain their mysteries they strove to hide.
* The parlour in a convent is the room where the nuns are permitted to speak to their friends through a lattice.
FLORENTINE we now design to show;-- A greater blockhead ne'er appeared below; It seems a prudent woman he had wed, With beauty that might grace a monarch's bed; Young, brisk, good-humoured, with engaging mien; None in the town, or round, the like was seen: Her praises every voice inclined to sing, And judged her worthy of a mighty king; At least a better husband she deserved: An arrant fool he looked, and quite unnerved. This Nicia Calfucci (for such his name) Was fully bent to have a father's fame, And thought his country honour he could do, Could he contrive his lineage to pursue. No holy saint in Paradise was blessed, But what this husband fervently addressed; From day to day, so oft he teazed for grace, They scarcely knew his off'rings where to place. No matron, quack, nor conjurer around, But what he tried their qualities profound; Yet all in vain: in spite of charm or book, No father he, whatever pains he took.