Miss C——p, No. 2, York-Street, Middlesex-Hospital.
Give me a nymph with all her charms,
A full grown nymph to fill my arms;
And leave to them that cannot feel,
The insipid things they call genteel.
Strange it is, but not less strange than true, that Englishmen in general have a great itch for variety; and according to our promissary note in the preface, we here present them with one of the finest, fattest figures as fully finished for fun and frolick as fertile fancy ever formed; fraught with every melting charm that can be found in the field of Venus, fortunate for the true lovers of fat, should fate throw them into the possession of such full grown beauties. Can you conceive the lightest tints of an Italian sky? such then her melting eye; can you figure to your imagination the swelling ripeness of two tempting cherries? such then her lips; though some might be led to imagine if they were a size less, they would be full as tempting. Can you place before your eyes, two beds of down for Cupids to sport on? such then her breasts. Would you wish for an ambush, for some of their more wanton brothers to play at hide and seek in? show them her Cyprian mounts. Have you a desire to roll in the loose luscious lap of lip-inviting luxury? spend an hour in her arms; that is, if Mr. C—tt—n should not be there first; he being so great a favourite, she is always denied when in his company. If not at home, she is to be found at any of the public hops, and in general with her favourite man, who we are told, won her first by virtue of his fiddle-stick, and has, since her first attachment, kept her in very good tune; if any of our readers wishes to try a tune with her, he must pay for it; but she is not at all exorbitant in her demands, seldom wishing to turn money away.