The Works of Henry Fielding/A Parody, From The First Aeneid.

by Henry Fielding

   DIXIT; et avertens roseâ cervice refulsit,
Ambrosiaeque comae divinum vertice odorem
Spiravere: pedes vestis defluxit ad imos,
Et vera incessu patuit Dea. —

   SHE said; and turning, shew'd her wrinkled neck,
In scales and colour like a roach's back.
Forth from her greasy locks such odours flow,
As those who've smelt Dutch coffee-houses, know.
To her mid-leg her petticoat was rear'd,
And the true slattern in her dress appear'd.