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 light’ning and electricity,
With so much plainness and simplicity;
The origin of rocks and mountains,
The seas and rivers, lakes and fountains,
Of rain and hail, of frost and snow,
And all the winds and storms that blow;
Besides an 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,
Which well deserves a long, long lecture,
Which all the ladies would approve __
The Natural History of Love.
Oh! List to our unified voice,
Deny us not, dear Doctor Moyes;
Tell us why our poor tender hearts
So willingly admit Love’s darts?
Teach us the marks of love’s beginning,
What is it makes a beau so winning?
What is it makes a coxcomb witty,
A dotard wise, a red coat pretty?
Why we believe such horrid lies,
That we are angels from the skies,
Our teeth are pearl, our cheeks are roses,
Our eyes are stars – such charming noses!
Explain our dreams waking and sleeping,
Explain our laughing and our weeping,
Explain our hoping and our doubting,
Our blushing, simpering and pouting.
Teach us all the enchanted arts
Of winning and of keeping hearts.
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 rule and turn them as we please.
Dear Doctor, if you grant our wishes,
We promise you five-hundred kisses;
And rather than the affair be blunder’d,
We’ll give you six score to the hundred.