The mysteries of love & eloquence, or, The arts of wooing and complementing as they are manag'd in the Spring Garden, Hide Park, the New Exchange, and other eminent places : a work in which is drawn to the life the deportments of the most accomplisht persons, the mode of their courtly entertainments, treatments of their ladies at balls, their accustom'd sports, drolls and fancies, the witchcrafts of their perswasive language in their approaches, or other more secret dispatches ...

The PUDDING.

FRom twelve years old, I oft have been told A Pudding it was a delicate bit, I can remember my Mother has said what a delight she had to be fed With a Pudding.

Thirteen being past, I long'd for to tast What Nature or Art could make so sweet, For many gay Lasses about my age Perpetually speak on't, that puts me in a rage For a Pudding.

Now at Fifteen I often have seen Most Maids to admire it so, That their humour and pride is to say O what a delight they have for to play With a Pudding.

When I am among some Wives that are young, Who think they shall never give it due praise, It is sweet, It is good, It is pleasant still They cry, they think they shall ne'r have their fill Of a Pudding.

The greater sort of the Town and the Court, When met, their tongues being tip't with Wine, How merry and Jocund their Tattles do run To tell how they ended and how they begun With a Pudding.

Some ancient Wives, who most of their lives Have daily tasted of the like food, Now for want of supplies do swear and grumble, That still they'r able enough, to mumble A Pudding.

Now, now I find, cat will to kind Since all my heart and blood is on fire, I am resolv'd whatever comes on't My Fancy no longer shall suffer the want Of a Pudding.

For I'le to John who says he has one That's cram'd as close as Cracker or Squib, Who ever is telling me when we do meet Of the wishing desires and sweetness they get In a Pudding.

I thought at first, It never would burst, It was as hard as grissel or bone, But by the rouling and trowling about How kindly and sweetly the Marrow flew out Of his Pudding.

Well, since I ne'r, was fed with such geer, Untill my John did prove so kind, I made a request to prepare again That I might continue in Love with the strain Of his Pudding.

Then straight he brought, what I little thought Could ever have been in its former plight, He rumbl'd and jumbled me ore and ore Till I found he had almost wasted the store Of his Pudding.

Then the other mess, I begg'd hin to dress, Which by my Assistance was brought to pass. But by his dulness and moving so slow I quickly perceiv'd the stuffing grew low In his Pudding.

Though he grew cold, my Stomach did hold With vigor to relish the other bit, But for all he could do, could not furnish agen, For he swore he had left little more than the skin Of his Pudding.