Lady — No, indeed, and indeed…
Gent — Not a little bit?
Lady — No, not a bit.
Gent — Do you find that your bowels act with regularity?
Lady — Quite so, thank you for your kind enquiries, I go punctually every ten days or so.
Gent — Now that is very naughty of you, you ought to go every morning.
Lady — But the seat is so dreadfully cold to sit down on in this nasty weather.
Gent — Might I warm it for you?
Lady — What would mama say?
(Here you see, the conversation is gliding into a flirtation and should be diverted unless you have honourable intentions. If you have, it may continue as follows:)
Gent — Your mama would say we were two cozy dicky birds to bolt ourselves into the water-closet.
Lady — But you would go away after you had warmed the seat, would you not, because I might make a little noise?
Gent — If it played a pretty tune I would love it.
Lady — And would you rumple the paper for me?
Gent — All day long.
Lady — For little me only and for no one else?
Gent — For no one but you would I rumple a particle of paper. Is it not extraordinary that there are no public urinals for ladies?
Lady — You men would be always standing about the doors.
Gent — But you ought to have them built like ours, you know, with the trough projecting a little further.
Lady — Butter-boat fashion, how very nice.
THE BANKRUPT BAWD.
Tune—"Vicar of Bray."
Near Jermyn Street a bawd did trade
In credit, style and splendour,
Well known to every high-bred blade,
And those of doubtful gender.
How nature once, in marring mood,
Her body formed, I'll tell ye,
Upon her back a swelling stood,
To mock her barren belly.
chorus:
For some succeed and others fail
That into commerce enter.
So few are chaste and many frail
In this great trading center.
In coney skins her commerce lay,
A charming stock she'd laid in;
She ne'er to smugglers fell a prey,
Her practice was fair trading.
These skins when dressed were red and white,
The fur of each fair creature,
Of different hues, as day and night,
Kept warm man's naked nature.
Chorus: For some succeed, etc.
The trading stock of this old bawd
A vital stab sustain'd, sir,
The news like wild-fire flew abroad,
Each customer complain'd, sir.
Some coney skins lay with a lot
By caution uninspected;