Written For The Honour Of The Fair Sex. 1731 Corinna, Pride Of Drury-Lane, For Whom No Shepherd Sighs In Vain; Never Did Covent-Garden Boast So Bright A Batter'D Strolling Toast! No Drunken Rake To Pick Her Up, No Cellar Where On Tick To Sup; Returning At The Midnight Hour, Four Stories Climbing To Her Bower; Then, Seated On A Three-Legg'D Chair, Takes Off Her Artificial Hair; Now Picking Out A Crystal Eye, She Wipes It Clean, And Lays It By. Her Eyebrows From A Mouse'S Hide Stuck On With Art On Either Side, Pulls Off With Care, And First Displays 'Em, Then In A Play-Book Smoothly Lays 'Em. Now Dext'Rously Her Plumpers Draws, That Serve To Fill Her Hollow Jaws, Untwists A Wire, And From Her Gums A Set Of Teeth Completely Comes; Pulls Out The Rags Contrived To Prop Her Flabby Dugs, And Down They Drop. Proceeding On, The Lovely Goddess Unlaces Next Her Steel-Ribb'D Bodice, Which, By The Operator'S Skill, Press Down The Lumps, The Hollows Fill. Up Goes Her Hand, And Off She Slips The Bolsters That Supply Her Hips; With Gentlest Touch She Next Explores Her Chancres, Issues, Running Sores; Effects Of Many A Sad Disaster, And Then To Each Applies A Plaster: But Must, Before She Goes To Bed, Rub Off The Daubs Of White And Red, And Smooth The Furrows In Her Front With Greasy Paper Stuck Upon'T. She Takes A Bolus Ere She Sleeps; And Then Between Two Blankets Creeps. With Pains Of Love Tormented Lies; Or, If She Chance To Close Her Eyes, Of Bridewell[1] And The Compter[1] Dreams, And Feels The Lash, And Faintly Screams; Or, By A Faithless Bully Drawn, At Some Hedge-Tavern Lies In Pawn; Or To Jamaica[2] Seems Transported Alone, And By No Planter Courted; Or, Near Fleet-Ditch'S[3] Oozy Brinks, Surrounded With A Hundred Stinks, Belated, Seems On Watch To Lie, And Snap Some Cully Passing By; Or, Struck With Fear, Her Fancy Runs On Watchmen, Constables, And Duns, From Whom She Meets With Frequent Rubs; But Never From Religious Clubs; Whose Favour She Is Sure To Find, Because She Pays Them All In Kind. Corinna Wakes. A Dreadful Sight! Behold The Ruins Of The Night! A Wicked Rat Her Plaster Stole, Half Eat, And Dragg'D It To His Hole. The Crystal Eye, Alas! Was Miss'D; And Puss Had On Her Plumpers P - St, A Pigeon Pick'D Her Issue-Pease: And Shock Her Tresses Fill'D With Fleas. The Nymph, Though In This Mangled Plight Must Ev'Ry Morn Her Limbs Unite. But How Shall I Describe Her Arts To Re-Collect The Scatter'D Parts? Or Show The Anguish, Toil, And Pain, Of Gath'Ring Up Herself Again? The Bashful Muse Will Never Bear In Such A Scene To Interfere. Corinna, In The Morning Dizen'D, Who Sees, Will Spew; Who Smells, Be Poison'D.