Duennas, grating, bolt and lock, All obstacles can naught avail; Constraint is but a stumbling block; For youthful ardour must prevail. Girls are precocious nowadays, Look at the men with ardent gaze, And longings' an infinity; Trim misses but just in their teens By day and night devise the means To dull with subtlety to sleep The Argus vainly set to keep In safety their virginity. Sighs, smiles, false tears, they'll fain employ An artless lover to decoy. I'll say no more, but leave to you, Friend reader, to pronounce if true What I've asserted when you have heard How artful Kitty, caged her bird. IN a small town in Italy, The name of which I do not know, Young Kitty dwelt, gay, pretty, free, Varambon's child.--Boccacio Omits her mother's name, which not To you or me imports a jot. At fourteen years our Kitty's charms Were all that could be wished--plump arms, A swelling bosom; on her cheeks Roses' and lilies' mingled streaks, A sparkling eye--all these, you know, Speak well for what is found below. With such advantages as these No virgin sure could fail to please, Or lack a lover; nor did Kate; But little time she had to wait; One soon appeared to seal her fate. Young Richard saw her, loved her, wooed her-- What swain I ask could have withstood her? Soft words, caresses, tender glances, The battery of love's advances, Soon lit up in the maiden's breast The flame which his own heart possessed, Soon growing to a burning fire Of love and mutual desire. Desire for what? My reader knows, Or if he does not may suppose, And not be very wond'rous wise. When youthful lovers mingle sighs, Believe me, friend, I am not wrong, For one thing only do they long. One check deferred our lover's bliss, A thing quite natural, 'twas this: The mother loved so well her child That, fearful she might be beguiled, She would not let her out of sight, A single minute, day or night. At mother's apron string all day Kate whiled the weary hours away, And shared her bed all night. Such love In parents we must all approve, Though Catherine, I must confess, In place of so much tenderness More liberty would have preferred. To little girls maternal care In such excess is right and fair, But for a lass of fourteen years, For whom one need have no such fears,