Venus One Day, As Story Goes, But For What Reason No Man Knows, In Sullen Mood And Grave Deport, Trudged It Away To Jove'S High Court; And There His Godship Did Entreat To Look Out For His Best Receipt: And Make A Monster Strange And Odd, Abhorr'D By Man And Every God. Jove, Ever Kind To All The Fair, Nor E'Er Refused A Lady'S Prayer, Straight Oped 'Scrutoire, And Forth He Took A Neatly Bound And Well-Gilt Book; Sure Sign That Nothing Enter'D There, But What Was Very Choice And Rare. Scarce Had He Turn'D A Page Or Two, - It Might Be More, For Aught I Knew; But, Be The Matter More Or Less, 'Mong Friends 'Twill Break No Squares, I Guess. Then, Smiling, To The Dame Quoth He, Here'S One Will Fit You To A T. But, As The Writing Doth Prescribe, 'Tis Fit The Ingredients We Provide. Away He Went, And Search'D The Stews, And Every Street About The Mews; Diseases, Impudence, And Lies, Are Found And Brought Him In A Trice. From Hackney Then He Did Provide, A Clumsy Air And Awkward Pride; From Lady'S Toilet Next He Brought Noise, Scandal, And Malicious Thought. These Jove Put In An Old Close-Stool, And With Them Mix'D The Vain, The Fool. But Now Came On His Greatest Care, Of What He Should His Paste Prepare; For Common Clay Or Finer Mould Was Much Too Good, Such Stuff To Hold. At Last He Wisely Thought On Mud; So Raised It Up, And Call'D It - Cludd. With This, The Lady Well Content, Low Curtsey'D, And Away She Went.