A Parody, From The First Aeneid.

DIXIT; et avertens roseâ cervice refulsit,Ambrosiaeque comae divinum vertice odoremSpiravere: 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.