VI.
But who was Ruth? methinks I hear you say.
I’ll answer in mine own peculiar way:
Her eyes were sparkling—as brilliant and bright
As glittering stars in a clear frosty night,
Her head was bedecked with beautiful hair,
Her teeth well preserved—her complexion fair,
With a smiling face—lips red as a cherry,
She would laugh, sing, and chat, ever make merry;
A leader of fashions, lively and gay,
She turned day into night—night into day;
Most fully developed, with full rounded arms,
No wonder frail men were struck with her charms;
In London, Paris, on Italia’s soil,
She played all her games according to Hoyle,
She homage received from men of all ranks,
Returned them no love—but simply her thanks.
A pure, spotless virgin, true! she was not,
But a superb widow! without a spot
Or blemish to mar; a Venus in form;
No wonder she took her lovers by storm.