The Pearl/Volume 7/Pleasures of Memory.

Sweet is the memory of the scenes In boyhood I enjoyed, Hot vigour thrilling in my veins, By no fruition cloyd.

So innocent a child I seem'd That Catherine, Jane, Eliza, Would treat me as a girl, nor dream'd That I was e'er the wiser.

I many a naked frolic spied, Nor seem'd a whit to care, With changeless glance serene I eyed Their sexual members bare.

All fear'd the strict severities Of Mistress and of Master, Who thought to crush propensities That only throve the faster.

But when I was thirteen I grew Too big a boy for this, The girls grew timid - well they knew I might do more than kiss.

No longer Jane would offer me The clean shirt nice and warm, And turn me up and cuddle me, Without supposing harm.

And Catherine never called me now The bathroom door to keep, The while she bathed, lest any came And say, "You must not peep."

Nor Harriet, when she climb'd the trees, Would let me now stand under, All seem'd to guard their modesties With care that made me wonder.

But fostering Venus kindly led Her young disciple still, Although I kept my maidenhead Sorely against my will.

For though from British blood I sprung Yet born in India's land, I felt while callow, raw and young Cythera's guiding hand.

And night by night, when fast asleep, Wits, nerves upon the stretch, My melting heart I could not keep, I was an amorous wretch.

One day I chanced to climb outside My cousin's bathing room, And found a hole through which I spied The place I'd used to roam.

I sigh'd to think how oft the girls Had idly let me in, "It's nobody but little Charles, No matter though he's seen."

Yes, I was their sole favourite, No other boy was suffer'd To share in many a luscious sight To me so freely offer'd.

"Those joys (thought I) are now no more!" I started - at that minute, Dear Kate came to the bathroom door, She lock'd herself within it.

"Oh, do I dream, or is it true? And is she going to bathe, And treat me to the fullest view Of all above, beneath?"

She dropt her gown, and one by one She stript her of her clothes, Her smock is all she now has on, "Oh, will she nought expose?"

There now it's off- and Catherine stands, In utter nudity, And neither of her rosy hands Conceals her modesty.

I saw her right before my eyes Naked, stark naked stand, The blooming centre of her thighs As naked as my hand.

What see I now! what see I not! Is Kate a woman grown? She was a little girl I thought, But lo, she's fully blown:

Oh look at her sweet fie for shame, With pouting lips so red. Oh look at her dear frisky game, Her open maidenhead!