Samuel Richardson

So moving is Pamela's tale,
And innocently told,
That I believe it cannot fail
To please both young and old.

Yet, I must own, it stirs my gall,
To think of Master B—
And, to be sure, good women all,
Will censure him like me.

In naked bed to hold her fast!
While she did roar and bawl!
And then to leave her at the last!
When she had ceas'd to squall!

He might be sure that she wou'd cry,
And seem t' oppose his will,
Whilst odious Mrs. Jewkes was by,
And yet the girl laid still.

The man, it seems, was frighted sure
At her pretended faint,
So when he might have had a whore,
He took her for a saint.

Pray, Sir, said she, before you go,
What mischief have you done?
His spirits were so very low,
That he said, — truly none.

The question sure was meant a joke,
Her scorn of him to show,
Else, why desire to hear that spoke
Which she could not but know.

However, pardon he did crave,
For making such a fuss;
Her hand unto him then she gave,
Which he vouchsaf'd to buss.

Tho' odd the question may be thought,
For one so very modest;
Yet that she wou'd forgive the fault,
To me seems much the oddest.