The Reverse (To Swift's Verses On Biddy Floyd); Or, Mrs. Cludd

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.