The Comic Reciter (1856, Glasgow)/The Ladies' Petition
For other versions of this work, see The Ladies Petition.
THE LADIES' PETITION
Dear Doctor, let it not transpire
How much your lectures we admire;
How at your eloquence we wonder,
When you explain the cause of thunder,
Of lightning, and of electricity,
With so much plainness and simplicity;
The origin of rocks and mountains,
Of seas and rivers, lakes and fountains:
Of rain and hills, and frost and snow,
And all the storms and winds that blow;
Besides a hundred wonders more,
Of which we never heard before.
But now, dear Doctor, not to flatter,
There is a most important matter,
A matter which you never touch on,
A matter which our thoughts run much on;
A subject, if we right conjecture,
That well deserves a long, long lecture,
Which all the ladies would approve—
The Natural History of Love!
Deny us not, dear Doctor Moyce:
O list to our entreating voice!
Tell us why our poor tender hearts
So easily admit love's darts.
Teach us the marks of love's beginning,
What makes us think a beau so winning
What makes us think a coxcomb witty,
A black coat wise, a red coat pretty;
Why we believe such horrid lies,
That we are angels from the skies,
Our teeth like pearl, our cheeks like roses,
Our eyes like stars, such charming noses!
Explain our dreams, awake or sleeping,
Explain our blushing, laughing, weeping,
Teach us, dear Doctor, if you can,
To humble that proud creature, Man;
To turn the wise ones into fools,
The proud and insolent to tools;
To make them all run helter skelter,
Their necks into the marriage halter:
Then leave us to ourselves with these,
We'll turn and rule them as we please.
Dear Doctor, if you grant our wishes,
We promise you five hundred kisses;
And, rather than the affair be blundered,
We'll give you six score to the hundred.
How much your lectures we admire;
How at your eloquence we wonder,
When you explain the cause of thunder,
Of lightning, and of electricity,
With so much plainness and simplicity;
The origin of rocks and mountains,
Of seas and rivers, lakes and fountains:
Of rain and hills, and frost and snow,
And all the storms and winds that blow;
Besides a hundred wonders more,
Of which we never heard before.
But now, dear Doctor, not to flatter,
There is a most important matter,
A matter which you never touch on,
A matter which our thoughts run much on;
A subject, if we right conjecture,
That well deserves a long, long lecture,
Which all the ladies would approve—
The Natural History of Love!
Deny us not, dear Doctor Moyce:
O list to our entreating voice!
Tell us why our poor tender hearts
So easily admit love's darts.
Teach us the marks of love's beginning,
What makes us think a beau so winning
What makes us think a coxcomb witty,
A black coat wise, a red coat pretty;
Why we believe such horrid lies,
That we are angels from the skies,
Our teeth like pearl, our cheeks like roses,
Our eyes like stars, such charming noses!
Explain our dreams, awake or sleeping,
Explain our blushing, laughing, weeping,
Teach us, dear Doctor, if you can,
To humble that proud creature, Man;
To turn the wise ones into fools,
The proud and insolent to tools;
To make them all run helter skelter,
Their necks into the marriage halter:
Then leave us to ourselves with these,
We'll turn and rule them as we please.
Dear Doctor, if you grant our wishes,
We promise you five hundred kisses;
And, rather than the affair be blundered,
We'll give you six score to the hundred.