Miss Harriet J—n—s, St. George's Hotel, opposite Virginia Street, Wapping.
For lips to lips, and Tongue to Tongue,
Will make a man of sixty young.
Yes, 'tis Harriet, the fair, still blooming Harriet, whose eyes are molded for the tender union of souls (let them but borrow a little fire from Bacchus) "by Heaven's, shoot Suns" whose nectar-distilling lips pour sweetest balm; whilst the soft silent lingual intercourse shoots powerfully through all the frame, and awakes each dormant sense. When naked she is certainly Thomson's Lavinia.
Needs not the foreign aid of ornament,
But is, when unadorned, adorned the most.
A beautiful black fringe borders the Venetian Mount, and whether she pursues the Grahamatic method from a practical knowledge of its increase of pleasure, from motives of cleanliness, or as a certain preventative we will not pretend to say; but we well know it makes her the more desirable bed-fellow, and after every stroke gives fresh tone and vigour to the lately distended parts; her legs and feet claim her peculiar attention, nor do their coverings ever disgrace their owner, nor their actions under cover ever do injustice to that dear delightful spot they are doomed to support, protect, and pay just obedience to; the eager twine, the almost unbearable press at the dye away moment, with all love's lesser Artillery, she plays off with uncommon activity and ardor, and drinks repetition with thirst insatiable. Half a guinea, and a new pink ribband to encircle her bewitching brows, is the least she expects for a night's entertainment. There are three or four more ladies of our order in the house, if this lady should not exactly suit.
But being blest with beauty's potent spell,
Must from her other sisters bear the bell.