Miss Ch—ld, No. 3, Charles-Street, Goodge-Street.
To arms, to arms, the Cyprian Queen
Here braves the god of War,
And tho' on back, not backward seen
To take his wond'rous spear,
And melt it in her clasping fold,
The fold of rapturous burning bliss,
'Till quite o'erspent in nature's mould,
Then darts fresh vigor with a kiss.
If a first rate smart little buck would wish for a mould to cast light infantry men in, we would strongly recommend him to Miss Ch—ld. She has a noble martial disposition, and would sooner die than be out rivalled; but independant of that occurrence in her professional line, her temper and disposition are good, and her abilities between the sheets are not easily equalled, excelled they cannot be; she possesses a pair of love speaking cerulean eyes, and a bosom as rich with love's choicest graces as luxuriant fancy can paint, and filled with the most irresistable firmness, whose panting redundancy soon invite the amorous encounter, and calls into action the till now hidden friend, whose swelling pride and impertinence will no longer suffer the curtain to remain drawn. She may, perhaps, at first attempt to chide, but bolt the door, and then all chiding ceases; an experienced sofa then lends its aid; her turning limbs enhance the coming pleasure, and sighing kisses crown the golden minute; her fair complexion charms the heart; her wicked blue eyes enchant the soul; her well made form tempts the touch; her lovely voice charms the ear, and her glossy flaxen hair is worth a guinea an hour to look at.