O’er every drowsy sense does hold her ban.
Her waggon-spokes of grill’d and devilled bones,
Her wheels give out a constant sound of groans;
Her whip, a knotted lash of champagne wires;
Her chariot, a stew-pan wrapped in fires;
Her shouts are pepper, and her oaths are spice;
She’s something nasty, after something nice.
In fact, my buck, to speak out plain and fair,
What you’ve been suffering from is the nightmare!
This extract is taken from “Romeo and Juliet Travestie, or the Cup of Cold Pison,” by Andrew Halliday.