Miss B—nd, No. 28, Frith-Street.
A rose-bud blows in either cheek,
Round which the lily makes its bed;
Two dimples sweet good nature speak,
And auburn ringlets deck her head.
Her heaving breasts pant keen desire,
Their blushing summits own the flame;
Her eyes seem wishing something nigher,
Her hand conducts it to the same.
Miss B—nd is a very genteel agreeable little girl, and is distinguished more by the elegancy of her dress, than the beauty of her person, which might perhaps have been ranked in the list of tolerable's, had not the small-pox been quite so unkind; she is, nevertheless, a desirable well tempered piece, and one that does not degrade herself by her company or her actions; she comes into our corps, in consequence of her good keeper's leaving England, and enlists a volunteer, in all the sprightliness and vivacity of nineteen, with beautiful auburn hair, and a pair of pretty languishing blue peepers, that seem at every glance to tell you how nature stands affected below; nor will those swimming luminaries deceive you; it is ever ready to receive the well formed tumid guest, and as the external crura entwine and press home the vigorous tool, the internal crura embrace it, and presses out the last precious drops of the vital fluid, which her hand, by stealth, conveyed to the treasure bags of nature, by tender squeezings seem to increase the undiscribable rapture, at the dye away moment; in short, during her performance of venereal rites, she is all the heart of the most in- flamed sensualist can wish, or any man that has two spare guineas in his pocket, can desire.