Mrs. H—rv—y, No. 21, Queen Ann Street East.
Behold those eyes that swim in humid fires,
And trace her wanton thoughts and young desires;
Taste those sweet lips, with balmy Nectar fraught,
And all the rich luxuriancy of thought:
Press her soft bosom—seat of swelling joy,
Whose charms invite the rosy pinion'd boy;
Who, fluttering here, may point the unerring dart,
Flash in each eye, and revel in each heart,
Till bolder grown, your hand insatiate rove,
O'er her delightful mount and sportive grove;
Then all her limbs unbound, her girdle loose,
There's nothing you can ask her, she'll refuse.
The above lines, from one of the warmest and most elegant poets fancy ever favoured, might be very justly applied to this charming girl. Rich with the glow of youth, and the charms of a person, in which nature has been lavishly bountiful, she possesses a mind rarely, very rarely met with in the frail daughters of pleasure; generous, freehearted, noble, feeling, and disinterested, might appear to be too high sounding epithets for a woman of this description. But however strange, it is not less strange than true; for she possesses qualities, which the want of, might make many a titled dame, poessessed of that single virtue, (or at least appearing to possess it) that she has unfortunately lost,—blush, for they may all with the strictest truth be applied to her.
Here then, may the man come, (nay, we advise him to) who wishes in the morning, succeedimg a delicious night, to find his person and his purse safe, and his health uninjured; here may he come, and taste every joy the most luscious desire can wish; here may his very sense be fed, nor know satiety, for joined to a beautiful face, an elegant form, and a graceful manner, you win find the agreeable companion, the good humoured girl, and the most enchanting bedfellow; young, and not more than three months on the town, or in the town, fine hazel love-swimming eyes, and dark brown hair, which left to twine in nature's wanton folds, plays loosely over a neck white as snow unsunned, and sweetly shades the most enchanting love hillocks nature ever planted below, a jetty black surrounds the pouting mansion, rais'd on a pair of pillars that might shame the whitest, or mark the smoothest alabaster, that twine in the amorous encounter, and seem to partake of that pleasure in the dye-away moment, that we cannot pretend to set any value upon.