| T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22. | | | | “Celemene, Pray Tell Me” | | Anonymous |
| | (From Pills to Purge Melancholy [1719], with music; set by Mr. Henry Purcell, sung by a Boy and Girl at the Playhouse)
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| | He. | Celemene, pray tell me, | |
| Pray, pray tell me, Celemene, | |
| When those pretty, pretty, pretty Eyes I see, | |
| Why my Heart beats, beats, beats, beats in my Breast, | |
| Why, why it will not, it will not, why, why, it will not let me rest: | 5 |
| Why this trembling, why this trembling too all o’er? | |
| Pains I never, pains I never, never, never felt before: | |
| And when thus I touch, when thus I touch your hand, | |
| Why I wish, I wish, I wish, I was a Man? | |
| She. | How should I know more than you? | 10 |
| Yet would be a Woman too. | |
| When you wash your self and play, | |
| I methinks could look all day; | |
| Nay, just now, nay, just now am pleased, am pleased so well, | |
| Should you, should you kiss me, I won’t tell, | 15 |
| Should you, should you kiss me, I won’t tell. | |
| No, no I won’t tell, no, no I won’t tell, no, no I won’t tell. | |
| Should you kiss me I won’t tell. | |
| He. | Tho’ I could do that all day, | |
| And desire no better play: | 20 |
| Sure, sure in Love there’s something more, | |
| Which makes Mamma so big, so big before. | |
| She. | Once by chance I heard it named, | |
| Don’t ask what, don’t ask what, for I’m ashamed: | |
| Stay but till you’re past Fifteen, | 25 |
| Then you’ll know, then, then you’ll know what ’tis I mean, | |
| Then you’ll know what, then you’ll know what ’tis I mean. | |
| He. | However, lose not present bliss, | |
| But now we’re alone, let’s kiss: | |
| But now we’re alone let’s kiss, let’s kiss. | 30 |
| She. | My breasts do so heave, so heave, so heave, | |
| He. | My Heart does so pant, pant, pant; | |
| She. | There’s Something, something, something more we want, | |
| There’s Something, something, something more we want. | | | |
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