T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
From My Cousins Tale of a Cock and Bull
By John Hall-Stevenson (17181785)(Tale II. From Crazy Tales) IN Italy there is a town, | |
Anciently of great renown, | |
Called by the Volscians, Privernum; | |
A fortress against the Romans, | |
Maintained, because it did concern them, | 5 |
Spite of Rome, and all her omens; | |
But to their cost, | |
At the long run their town was lost. | |
Whether ’twas forced, or did surrender, | |
You never need, my dear Sir, know, | 10 |
Provided you will but remember, | |
Privernum signifies Piperno. | |
Close by the Franciscan Friars, | |
There liv’d a Saint as all declare, | |
All the world cannot be liars, | 15 |
Which Saint wrought miracles by prayer. | |
Her life, so holy was, and pure, | |
Her prayers, at all times, they believe, | |
Could heirs or heiresses secure, | |
And make the barren womb conceive. | 20 |
Which was a safe expedient, | |
And also wonderful convenient: | |
For there was not a barren womb, | |
That might not try. | |
Going between Naples and Rome | 25 |
As she passes by. | |
My story will not be the worse, | |
If you will but reflect with patience, | |
Upon the constant intercourse | |
Between these famous neighbor nations. | 30 |
It is so great, that I dare say, | |
The Saint could have but little ease; | |
She must have been, both night and day, | |
Continually on her knees. | |
For I can prove it very clear, | 35 |
That many of these wombs are barren, | |
Which wombs, were they transplanted here, | |
Would breed like rabbits in a warren. | |
Near Terracina, once called Anxur, | |
There is a place called Bosco Folto, | 40 |
A castle standing on a bank, Sir, | |
The seat of the Marchese Stolto. | |
In history you all have read, | |
Most of you have, I’m pretty sure, | |
How on that road there is no bed, | 45 |
Nor any inn, you can endure. | |
For Stolto I had got a letter, | |
From my good friend, Prince Mala-Fede, | |
And from the Princess a much better, | |
Wrote to his Excellency’s Lady. | 50 |
The Marquis is advanced in years, | |
And dries you so, there’s no escaping; | |
The merriest, when he appears, | |
Yawn, and set the rest a gaping. | |
Seccare is a word of fun; | 55 |
It means to dry, as you may find, | |
Not like the fire, or like the sun, | |
But like a cold unpleasant wind. | |
But she is perfectly well-bred; | |
Neither too forward, nor too shy: | 60 |
I never did, in any head, | |
In all my life, see such an eye; | |
Nor such a head on any shoulders; | |
Nor such a neck, with such a swell, | |
That could present itself so well, | 65 |
To all the critical beholders. | |
Four years the Marquis was hum-drumming, | |
In that same place, with his bed-fellow, | |
Waiting for the happy coming | |
Of a young Marquis, a Stoltello. | 70 |
As soon as ever he arrives, | |
The family is to be sent to | |
The Cardinal at Benevento, | |
For the remainder of their lives. | |
The Cardinal is Stolto’s nephew, | 75 |
His age is only twenty-seven; | |
And of that age, also how few! | |
Who think, like him, of nought but Heaven. | |
His aunt will manage and take care | |
Of all the Cardinal’s affairs, | 80 |
Stoltello is to be his heir, | |
When he has finished all his prayers. | |
Stolto may live as he thinks good, | |
His life delightfully will run, | |
Between his castle in the wood, | 85 |
His wife, his nephew, and his son. | |
And yet, according to Fame’s trumpet, | |
Who very seldom trumpets right, | |
His wife was reckoned a great strumpet, | |
His nephew a great hypocrite. | 90 |
I don’t believe a word of that, | |
The world will talk, and let it chat: | |
You cannot think her in the wrong, | |
To grow quite weary of the place, | |
She thought Stoltello stayed so long, | 95 |
He was ashamed to show his face. | |
Stolto had heard the Holy Maid | |
Always cried up both far and near, | |
And he believed she could persuade | |
His son Stoltello to appear. | 100 |
Considering what time was past, | |
How they had tried, and better tried, | |
Stolto advised his wife at last, | |
To go and be fecundified. | |
The Marquis told me the whole story, | 105 |
Which he had from the Marchesina, | |
And it is so much to her glory; | |
’Tis all the talk of Terracina. | |
The very night that she came back, | |
He was in such a sifting cue; | 110 |
He almost put her to the rack, | |
’Till she discovered all she knew. | |
First his acknowledgment being paid, | |
A pepper-cornish kind of due; | |
As they were laid, composed and staid, | 115 |
She told him just as I tell you: | |
Before the Marchioness sets out, | |
It will be proper, on reflection, | |
To obviate a certain doubt, | |
A doubt that looks like an objection. | 120 |
Here, because they know no better, | |
The snarlers think they’ve found a bone; | |
They think the Marquis would not let her | |
Go such an errand all alone. | |
A Lady, you must understand, | 125 |
That visits, to fulfill her vows, | |
A holy house, or holy land, | |
Commonly goes without her spouse. | |
And so, by keeping herself still, | |
Quiet and sober in her bed, | 130 |
She never thinks of any ill, | |
Nothing unclean enters her head. | |
You’re satisfied your doubt was weak, | |
And now the Marchioness may speak. | |
As you foretold, before I went, | 135 |
The Saint was so engaged, and watched, | |
That a whole week and more was spent, | |
Before my business was dispatched. | |
“Indeed, you would have greatly pitied, | |
If you had seen me but, my Dear; | 140 |
Howe’er, at last, I was admitted, | |
And what I met with you shall hear. | |
“The Saint and I sat on a bench; | |
Before us, on a couch, there lay | |
A pretty little naked wench, | 145 |
That minded nothing but her play. | |
“Her play, was playing with a mouse, | |
That popped its head in, went and came, | |
And nestled in its little house, | |
It was so docible and tame. | 150 |
“Guess where the mouse had found a bower? | |
You are so dull, it is a shame; | |
You cannot guess in half an hour, | |
I’ll lay your hand upon the same. | |
“These,” cried the Saint, “are all ideal, | 155 |
Visions all, and nothing real, | |
Yet they will animate your blood, | |
And rouse and warm the pregnant powers, | |
Just like the ling’ring, sickly bud, | |
Opened by fructifying showers. | 160 |
“If you are violently heated, | |
Remember in your greatest needs, | |
Your Ave Mary be repeated, | |
’Till you have gone through all your Beads: | |
Take heed, they’re going to begin, | 165 |
I see the visions coming in. | |
“First came a Cock, and then a Bull, | |
And then a Heifer and a Hen; | |
’Till they had got their bellies full, | |
On and off, and on again. | 170 |
“And then I spied a foolish Filly, | |
That was reduced to a strange pass, | |
Languishing, and looking silly, | |
At the proposals of an Ass. | |
“I turned about and saw a sight, | 175 |
Which was a sight I could not bear, | |
A filthy Horse, with all his might, | |
Gallanting with a filthy Mare. | |
“And lo! there came a dozen Priests! | |
And all the Priests shaven and shorn! | 180 |
And they were like a dozen beasts, | |
Naked as ever they were born: | |
And they passed on, | |
One by one, | |
Ev’ry one with an exalted horn. | 185 |
“Then they drew up and stood awhile, | |
In rank and file, | |
And after, marched off the parade, | |
One by one, | |
Falling upon | 190 |
This miserable, naked Maid. | |
“Nothing could equal my surprise, | |
To see her go through great and small! | |
And after that, to see her rise, | |
And turn the joke upon them all! | 195 |
“And I kept praying still and counting, | |
In a prodigious fret and heat, | |
And she successively kept mounting, | |
And always kept a steady seat. | |
“’Till having finished her career, | 200 |
The Priests were terribly perplexed, | |
They could not tell which way to steer, | |
Nor whereabouts to settle next. | |
“Brother was running after Brother, | |
Turning their horns against each other; | 205 |
The Holy Maid cried out aloud, | |
Heaven deliver us from sin: | |
And I turned up my eyes, and bowed, | |
And said Amen within.” * * * * * | |
And so, at last, his cost and toil, | 210 |
The Marquis was obliged to own, | |
Were laid out on a grateful soil, | |
At last he reaped as he had sown. | |