Of the Lady’s Chamber
“O fie,” she said, feigning to cover her face, “you are a most instant villain. How you press me! And, I warrant, you ha’ loved scores.”
“One may dabble in the sex,” I said, “but I have had a passion for none save your ladyship. And I have seen hundreds, but never one to match the turn of your shoulders.”
“I have pretty shoulders,” says she, glancing down at ’em: and she stretched herself upon the couch so as her ankles showed beneath the borders of her petticoats.
“Aye,” said I, “and more!”
“O foh,” she says, but her eyes sparkling, “there be plenty in the Town with better points upon ’em.”
“Indeed, and there’s not,” says I, “as I will prove upon the body of any Huff in London, if he have the ill taste.” She gave me a look out of her eyes, the which set me off in a whirl. “Come,” says I suddenly, “what’s amiss that we should not fetch the parson?”
“O Lard,” she sighed and simpered, “what would the wits of Town say? They would rhyme me out of my life.”
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