The Power of Mesmerism
arse; I fear not your threats, there's a fart for your bully, No whore
in the Heavens shall make me her cully!" "You run a hot bar in my bum,"
quoth the dame, "Its a sign you've a mighty respect for the same; If
your love be so little as to abuse it, I'll keep it for those who know
better to use it; I'm certain no Goddess that values her honour, Would
bear the indignities you put upon her, And not from that minute resolve
out of spite, To improve your old horns till they hang in your light."
"You're an impudent slut," cries the smung at his bellows, "And I the
unhappiest of all marry'd fellows: I know you have made me a ram, I
have seen it, I catch'd you, you Whore, in the critical minute, Fast
lock'd in the arms of your lecherous God, Whilst his brawny posteriors
went niddity nod; And you, like a Slut, lay as pleased and contented,
As if every joint of your body consented; Altho' when you found you
were spy'd by your buck, Then you struggl'd and strove like a pig that
is stuck, And dismounting your God, would have made your escape, But I
saw by your actions it could be no rape; Tho' when you first heard, by
my patting-shoe tread, My approach to your Whoreship's adulterous bed,
I know you'd have flown with your coats and your bodice, And afterwards
vow'd 'twas some other lewd Goddess; But my net was too strong, it
prevented your flying, And so put a stop to your swearing and lying.
Besides, that the Gods might behold what a Slut Of a Beautiful Queen
they amongst them had got, I call'd 'em about, that their Honours might
stand, And be pimps to your Goddesship's bus'ness in hand, That in case
you the truth shou'd hereafter deny, I might call the whole Heavens to
witness you lie." "And what did you get?" cries the amorous dame, "For
the pains that you took, but a Cuckoldy Name; 'Tis true you're
confirmed you've a Whore for your wife, Pray is that any comfort or
ease to your life; And have made it appear to the Gods as a jest, That
your wife's reputation is none of the best; Does that make your labour
more easy or sweet, Or give you more gust to your drink or your meat?
'Tis true, you are fam'd for the net you have made, Pray what did you
catch in't but horns for your head; You know that your rival don't
value a trap, Or a net, any more than a child or a clap; A soldier is
never asham'd of his vices, But rather is proud of a Goddess's kisses;
And thinks it adds more to a hero's renown, To subdue a fair lady than
conquer a town; Your spite must be therefore intended alone, Against
me, and that my little faults might be known; Since 'tis as it is, I am
very well pleas'd, Your head shall be loaded, my tail shall be eas'd;
For since you have publish'd my shame and disgrace, And have made me a
jest to the heavenly race; I'll be impudent now, and whenever I meet,
My dear favourite Mars, tho' it be in the street; If a bulk be but
near, I will never more dally, He shall, if it pleases him, ay marry
shall he; Thus all you shall get by your open detection, Of one silly
error in female affection, Is a wife that will cuckold you worse out of
spite, Now she's catch'd, than before she e're did for delight; To
punish thy head and heart, that very vice, Which I us'd but in private
whilst honour was nice; I'll publickly now practice over and o'er, Till
thou'rt fain'd for a Cuckold and I for a Whore." Cries Vulcan, "Could
ever man think that a Goddess, Admir'd for her charms by such numbers
of noddies, Should ever be curst with so rampant a tail, That will
wallow more love-sap, than I can do ale; A pox on your rump, for I
plainly see 'tis As salt as your parents, Oceanus and Tethys. But had I
first known you had sprung from salt water, The Devil for me, should
have marry'd the daughter; Besides, you are grown both so lustful and
bold, And for all your sweet looks, have a Billingsgate tongue, That is
fifty times worse than a fishwoman's hung. If these be the plagues of a
beautiful wife, O ease me, Great Jove, of so cursed a life; If La Pies
divine, who inhabit the Heavens, Will Whore on like mortals, at sixes
and sevens; Rave, rattle, and taunt at their horrify'd spouses, And
ramble abitching thro' all the twelve houses; For all your fine
features I'll e'en give you over, The charms of a Whore are but plagues
to a lover. Get you gone and be pox'd, to your old bully Mars, Let a
God be a slave to your Goddesship's A----s; Whilst I'm contempt of your
infamous rump, On my anvil will knock, with a thump, a thump-thump!"
The second day after Frank had read these curious old bits to his
parents and sister, they were all delighted by the arrival of young
Harry Mortimer to spend a day with his old school-mate.
To judge by appearances Mr. Etheridge had every cause for the curious
desires he had confessed to, two days before. Harry was a really
handsome youth of seventeen, with golden coloured hair, the bloom of
the peach on his cheeks, and a most loveable pair of deep blue eyes
which seemed full of the humid fire of love. He had also a finely
developed form, which his close-fitting garments set off to the best
advantage, and, above all, what had the most charm for the eyes of his
friends as they so heartily welcomed him to their house was the evident
precocity of his organs of love, which in their quiescent state showed
a most prominent lump in his trousers.
Mrs. Etheridge: "Why Harry, what a fine fellow you have grown since I
saw you a year ago. No doubt you are too bashful to kiss Ethel now, but
you will surely embrace an old friend like me, who used to nurse you in
my arms as a baby," giving him such an amorous hug and smack upon his
cheeks that the young fellow blushed up to his eyes.
After luncheon Frank took Harry for a walk, and asking him if he would
like to look at their horses, they bent their steps to the stables
where the groom Thomas, a fine handsome young fellow of about twenty,
was polishing the coats of his charges, at the same time as he emitted
that curious hissing which all stablemen so mysteriously accustom
themselves to when busy over their work. He did not see the two young
gentlemen till they had been watching his operations for a few seconds,
but as soon as he did so, respectfully touched his cap and asked them
to look at his horses.
Walking into the stable, Thomas, cap in hand, respectfully pointed out
all the perfections of his pets and the neatness of all the
appointments. Then he conducted them into the harness room, which was
at the top of a short flight of stairs.
Thomas was about to close an interior door, which half open gave a view
into his own private quarters, when, a sudden idea striking him, Frank
said, "You won't mind, Thomas, if we take a peep into your
sanctum--unless you have got a young lady you would rather we did not
see. I only want to let Mr. Mortimer see how cosy your room is,
besides, you know, I have often had a sly smoke with you there on wet
days when I was home for the holidays before, and I know you have
always got some nice clean glasses in your cupboard, if not anything
better than water to offer us. But I have taken care of that and
brought a good flask of finest brandy. I got the housekeeper to give me
some of papa's real _vieux cognac_. It's ever so old and goes down like
milk. Just the thing, Thomas, to keep you up to your work when you have
a nice girl. But I forget you never do anything of the sort, eh! How
about little Lucy, the under-housemaid, who I hear had to go home with
a big belly not long ago?"
"Lord, sir!" said Thomas, quite enjoying Frank's joke, "that'll be
another of old Stroker's kids when it's born. He did it when she went
up to be taught her confirmation lesson. I'm told he confirmed seven
girls in fucking, this examination. He's a regular ram of a parson, and
will soon be the father of all the young'uns in the parish. I wonder
Master let Miss Ethel go to him at all. I always suspected the old
fellow after the way he treated me."
They entered the snug little bedroom, where everything was a clean as a
new pin, and seated themselves on the only two chairs that were there,
whilst the groom brought out the glasses and fetched a jug of bright
sweet spring water from the pump outside.
Frank, mixing a rather stiffish drop, said, "Now, Thomas, drink the
Rev. Mr. Stroker's health, and then tell us all about his tricks with
you."
Himself and Harry also took a little of the brandy. And Thomas, pressed
to begin, cleared his throat and commenced:
"Well, Mr. Frank and Mr. Mortimer, I don't mind letting you into the
secret, but the fact is every time I think of the old rascal's
indecency it makes my cock stand, but you must not tell a soul what I
now tell you."
"All right, go on, old fellow, just a drop more brandy to encourage
your bashfulness, eh!" laughed Frank.
Thomas, wiping his mouth after a good swig at the brandy and water:
"Well, sirs, that righteous old sinner, as an Irishman would say, began
by asking me questions about who made me. If I knew there was a God and
a Devil. Then about the world and the flesh, and so on, a lot of
rubbish out of the church prayerbook. 'You know, Thomas, my boy,' he
said, 'that the "flesh" means having to do with girls and other dirty
indecent things which come into the heads of rude boys. Now tell me if
you ever did anything of that kind with other boys or girls?'
"This was rather a poser for me. I didn't like to tell a downright lie
and knew I had been a party to one or two little games of that sort,
such as we used to do in the hayfield, throwing the girls down, turning
up their clothes, and showing them our cocks, which no doubt the old
rascal knew. I could feel my face was turning quite red with confusion.
'Ha, I see what it is, Thomas! I must thoroughly examine you and tell
by the look of your penis' (that is the word I think he used, but you
know he meant my cock), as he ordered me to unbutton and show him my
privates, and he would soon tell if I had been up to any of the Devil's
wickedness.
"As soon as I was exposed to him he told me to draw the skin of my cock
back, which I did.
"'Do it again, my boy, there now, again--two or three times mind.'
"Then I expect he saw slight signs of a rise, saying, 'Do it
quicker--quicker, boy' till I had the horn quite stiff.
"'My gracious! You're finely grown for your age, Thomas. Now did you
never show that to a gal?'
"'Well, sir,' I said, rather shamefaced at what he was making me do, 'I
did once, but only once, sir, and Polly Jones felt it with her hand,
and let me feel what her cock was like, too.'
"'Fine goings on in my parish, 'pon my word, Thomas, but what sort a
thing had she got? Because you know gals have nothing like this,' he
said, taking hold of my standing prick.
"'She'd--she'd only a little crack, sir,' I replied. 'Pray let me go
now, sir, I don't like it.' He was regularly frigging me.
"'Silly boy, here's a half-crown to keep quiet, if you let me handle it
a bit, and you shall have another every time you come to me,' he said,
giving me the money, and soon frigged me to a spend and then let me go.
I didn't think much harm in it, and was very glad to get the parson's
half-crowns, so went twice a week for examination. He wasn't satisfied
with just frigging me, but sometimes went down on his knees and sucked
my cock till I spent in his mouth, which I liked better, but when he
wanted me to do the same for him, and even offered me a sovereign, I
wouldn't do it, only let him rub his great cock against my belly and
balls, and then he would spend, holding the head of my prick against
his own and so drawing his own foreskin over it. Then I had the
sovereign never to open my lips about it, and at last was confirmed."
Frank now gave Thomas a drop more brandy and asked him if he would like