The lady's Dressing Room

But, oh! it turn'd poor Strephon's bowels

When he beheld and smelt the towels,

Begumm'd, bematter'd, and beslim'd,

With dirt, and sweat, and ear-wax grim'd;

No object Strephon's eye escapes;

Here petticoats in frouzy heaps;

Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot,

All varnish'd o'er with snuff and snot.

The stockings why should I expose,

Stain'd with the moisture of her toes,

Or greasy coifs, and pinners reeking,

Which Celia slept at least a week in?

A pair of tweezers next he found,

To pluck her brows in arches round;

Or hairs that sink the forehead low,

Or on her chin like bristles grow.

The virtues we must not let pass

Of Celia's magnifying glass;

When frighted Strephon cast his eye on't,

It shew'd the visage of a giant:

A glass that can to sight disclose

The smallest worm in Celia's nose,

And faithfully direct her nail

To squeeze it out from head to tail;

For, catch it nicely by the head,

It must come out, alive or dead.

Why, Strephon, will you tell the rest?

And must you needs describe the chest?

That careless wench! no creature warn her

To move it out from yonder corner!

But leave it standing full in sight,

For you to exercise your spight?

In vain the workman shew'd his wit,

With rings and hinges counterfeit,

To make it seem in this disguise

A cabinet to vulgar eyes:

Which Strephon ventur'd to look in,

Resolved to go thro' thick and thin.

He lifts the lid: there needs no more,

He smelt it all the time before.