"Vife shillins! 't is a monstrous price;
Say two and six and further talk shun."
"Take it," cried Jove; "we can't be nice,—
'T would fetch twice that at Leonard's auction."
The ice was broken; up they came,
All sharp for bargains, god and goddess,
Each ready with the price to name
For robe or head-dress, scarf or bodice.
First Juno, out of temper, too,—
Her queenly forehead somewhat cloudy;
Then Pallas in her stockings blue,
Imposing, but a little dowdy.
The scowling queen of heaven unrolled
Before the Jew a threadbare turban
"Three shillings." "One. 'T will suit some old
Terrific feminine suburban."
But as for Pallas,—how to tell
In seemly phrase a fact so shocking?
She pointed,—pray excuse me,—well,
She pointed to her azure stocking.
And if the honest truth were told,
Its heel confessed the need of darning;
"Gods!" low-bred Vulcan cried, "behold!
There! that's what comes of too much larning!"
Pale Proserpine came groping round,
Her pupils dreadfully dilated
With too much living underground,—
A residence quite overrated;
This kerchief's what you want, I know,—
Don't cheat poor Venus of her cestus,—
You'll find it handy when you go
To—you know where; it's pure asbestus.
Then Phoebus of the silverr bow,
And Hebe, dimpled as a baby,
And Dian with the breast of snow,
Chaser and chased—and caught, it may be:
One took the quiver from her back,
One held the cap he spent the night in,
And one a bit of bric-a-brac,
Such as the gods themselves delight in.