The Lady's Dressing-room. 1730 Poem Rhyme Scheme and Analysis
Rhyme Scheme: ABCCDDEEFGHHHHHHIJKK HHLLHHMMHHNNHHMMMMMM MMMMHHMMHHMMBAHHOOMM HHMMPPHHHHQQHHHHMMAA RRMMSSHHHHHHNNTTNNHH QQMMUUVVHHWWXXEEMVBB MMIIMMHHHHMMTTMMMMHH HHYY| Five hours and who can do it less in | A |
| By haughty Celia spent in dressing | B |
| The goddess from her chamber issues | C |
| Array'd in lace brocades and tissues | C |
| Strephon who found the room was void | D |
| And Betty otherwise employ'd | D |
| Stole in and took a strict survey | E |
| Of all the litter as it lay | E |
| Whereof to make the matter clear | F |
| An inventory follows here | G |
| And first a dirty smock appear'd | H |
| Beneath the arm pits well besmear'd | H |
| Strephon the rogue display'd it wide | H |
| And turn'd it round on ev'ry side | H |
| On such a point few words are best | H |
| And Strephon bids us guess the rest | H |
| But swears how damnably the men lie | I |
| In calling Celia sweet and cleanly | J |
| Now listen while he next produces | K |
| The various combs for various uses | K |
| Fill'd up with dirt so closely fixt | H |
| No brush could force a way betwixt | H |
| A paste of composition rare | L |
| Sweat dandriff powder lead and hair | L |
| A fore head cloth with oil upon't | H |
| To smooth the wrinkles on her front | H |
| Here alum flour to stop the steams | M |
| Exhaled from sour unsavoury streams | M |
| There night gloves made of Tripsey's hide | H |
| Bequeath'd by Tripsey when she died | H |
| With puppy water beauty's help | N |
| Distil'd from Tripsey's darling whelp | N |
| Here gallipots and vials placed | H |
| Some fill'd with washes some with paste | H |
| Some with pomatums paints and slops | M |
| And ointments good for scabby chops | M |
| Hard by a filthy bason stands | M |
| Foul'd with the scouring of her hands | M |
| The bason takes whatever comes | M |
| The scrapings from her teeth and gums | M |
| A nasty compound of all hues | M |
| For here she spits and here she spues | M |
| But oh it turn'd poor Strephon's bowels | M |
| When he beheld and smelt the towels | M |
| Begumm'd bematter'd and beslim'd | H |
| With dirt and sweat and ear wax grim'd | H |
| No object Strephon's eye escapes | M |
| Here petticoats in frouzy heaps | M |
| Nor be the handkerchiefs forgot | H |
| All varnish'd o'er with snuff and snot | H |
| The stockings why should I expose | M |
| Stain'd with the moisture of her toes | M |
| Or greasy coifs and pinners reeking | B |
| Which Celia slept at least a week in | A |
| A pair of tweezers next he found | H |
| To pluck her brows in arches round | H |
| Or hairs that sink the forehead low | O |
| Or on her chin like bristles grow | O |
| The virtues we must not let pass | M |
| Of Celia's magnifying glass | M |
| When frighted Strephon cast his eye on't | H |
| It shew'd the visage of a giant | H |
| A glass that can to sight disclose | M |
| The smallest worm in Celia's nose | M |
| And faithfully direct her nail | P |
| To squeeze it out from head to tail | P |
| For catch it nicely by the head | H |
| It must come out alive or dead | H |
| Why Strephon will you tell the rest | H |
| And must you needs describe the chest | H |
| That careless wench no creature warn her | Q |
| To move it out from yonder corner | Q |
| But leave it standing full in sight | H |
| For you to exercise your spight | H |
| In vain the workman shew'd his wit | H |
| With rings and hinges counterfeit | H |
| To make it seem in this disguise | M |
| A cabinet to vulgar eyes | M |
| Which Strephon ventur'd to look in | A |
| Resolved to go thro' thick and thin | A |
| He lifts the lid there needs no more | R |
| He smelt it all the time before | R |
| As from within Pandora's box | M |
| When Epimetheus op'd the locks | M |
| A sudden universal crew | S |
| Of human evils upward flew | S |
| He still was comforted to find | H |
| That hope at last remain'd behind | H |
| So Strephon lifting up the lid | H |
| To view what in the chest was hid | H |
| The vapours flew from up the vent | H |
| But Strephon cautious never meant | H |
| The bottom of the pan to grope | N |
| And foul his hands in search of hope | N |
| O ne'er may such a vile machine | T |
| Be once in Celia's chamber seen | T |
| O may she better learn to keep | N |
| Those secrets of the hoary deep | N |
| As mutton cutlets prime of meat | H |
| Which tho' with art you salt and beat | H |
| As laws of cookery require | Q |
| And toast them at the clearest fire | Q |
| If from upon the hopeful chops | M |
| The fat upon a cinder drops | M |
| To stinking smoke it turns the flame | U |
| Pois'ning the flesh from whence it came | U |
| And up exhales a greasy stench | V |
| For which you curse the careless wench | V |
| So things which must not be exprest | H |
| When drop'd into the reeking chest | H |
| Send up an excremental smell | W |
| To taint the part from whence they fell | W |
| The petticoats and gown perfume | X |
| And waft a stink round ev'ry room | X |
| Thus finishing his grand survey | E |
| Disgusted Strephon slunk away | E |
| Repeating in his amorous fits | M |
| Oh Celia Celia Celia sh | V |
| But Vengeance goddess never sleeping | B |
| Soon punish'd Strephon for his peeping | B |
| His foul imagination links | M |
| Each dame he sees with all her stinks | M |
| And if unsavoury odours fly | I |
| Conceives a lady standing by | I |
| All women his description fits | M |
| And both ideas jump like wits | M |
| By vicious fancy coupled fast | H |
| And still appearing in contrast | H |
| I pity wretched Strephon blind | H |
| To all the charms of woman kind | H |
| Should I the Queen of Love refuse | M |
| Because she rose from stinking ooze | M |
| To him that looks behind the scene | T |
| Statira's but some pocky quean | T |
| When Celia in her glory shews | M |
| If Strephon would but stop his nose | M |
| Who now so impiously blasphemes | M |
| Her ointments daubs and paints and creams | M |
| Her washes slops and every clout | H |
| With which he makes so foul a rout | H |
| He soon would learn to think like me | H |
| And bless his ravish'd sight to see | H |
| Such order from confusion sprung | Y |
| Such gaudy tulips raised from dung | Y |
Jonathan Swift
(1)
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