T. R. Smith, comp. Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse. 1921–22.
The Schoolmaster’s Lesson
Anonymous(A Broadside Song with music, c. 1720) |
I WILL fly into your Arms, | |
| And Smother you with kisses, | |
| I will rifle all your Charms, | |
| And teach you Am’rous blisses, | |
| For it is my Concern, | 5 |
| And a means that you should learn, | |
| The Pranks of other Misses. | |
| Don’t be coy when I invade, | |
| And kindly yield the Blessing, | |
| For it is high time your Maidenhead | 10 |
| Were in my Possession, | |
| Don’t cry out and be a Fool, | |
| For if that you come to School | |
| You must peruse your Lesson. | |
| Open then the Books, my dear, | 15 |
| The Leaves shall be separated, | |
| All things that comprehensive are, | |
| Shall soon be penetrated. | |
| Lessons three she had that Night, | |
| Taking pleasure with delight, | 20 |
| She begged for more next Morning. | |
| Lovely master try again, | |
| Don’t so soon forsake me, | |
| For to learn I am in Pain | |
| Till you a Scholar make me, | 25 |
| Such pretty pretty Things you show | |
| The more you teach the more I’d know, | |
| For now the Fit does take me. | |
| Never Master pleas’d me more, | |
| To such great Perfection, | 30 |
| And of all the schools I’m sure, | |
| Kind is your Correction, | |
| For whene’er you give the same | |
| Never a Scholar can you blame, | |
| ’Tis done with such affection. | 35 |
| Open then my Leaves so Fair, | |
| And kindly to me show, Sir, | |
| What knowledge is, how sweet, how rare, | |
| And what I long to know, Sir, | |
| Cupid tells me very Plain, | 40 |
| That your learning is not vain, | |
| But useful as his Bow, Sir. | |
| When he was departing then, | |
| She said with kind Expression, | |
| When will you, pray Sir, come again, | 45 |
| And teach me t’other Lesson. | |
| He reply’d with great delight, | |
| My dear, I’ll come but ev’ry Night, | |
| And think it as a Blessing. | |
| Thus each Night he do[e]s repair | 50 |
| To tell her of her Duty, | |
| While He’s taken in the snare | |
| Shot to the Heart by Cupid, | |
| When the School master is Love, | |
| Then the Scholars kinder prove | 55 |
| For Love is Kin to Beauty. | |