The Eighth Sin/To Venus in the Ashmolean
TO VENUS IN THE ASHMOLEAN.
Dear Goddess, in your quiet eyes I long have seen the dumb reproof,But surely charity denies That you should longer hold aloof.Dear Goddess, freely I confess—Great pardon, of your graciousness.
The Confession
An argument arose between usTouching the perfect waist of Venus.My friend (a very subtle Scot)Said Thirty-three. I'm sure it's notWas my retort. As I'm aliveI'll guarantee it's thirty-five.Base men had let the matter rest—But we—we put it to the test.We took a measured length of twineAnd came within the sacred shrine.The Goddess stood, unrobed and stately—Her purity abashed us greatly—
But while the captious Scot looked outFor keepers strolling round aboutI tiptoed up. With horrid qualmsEncircled her with profane armsAnd (inly shuddering) then I placedUnhallowed fingers on her waist,And her whom I had long adoredI girdled with the impious cord.O had there been an ancient GreekTo see the faint flush on her cheekHe would have slain me on the spot.
Then said my friend (irreverent Scot)What do you make it? Thirty-three?But Venus' eyes were fixed on meAnd in my innate chivalryI could not tell the brutal truth,(Her girth was thirty-five in sooth)Your guess was wrong, and so was mineQuoth I. Her waist is twenty-nine.
And as we hurried down the aisleHer eyes pursued me with a smile.How glad we were no-one had seen usMeasuring the waist of Venus.
Dear Goddess, freely I confess And pray your charity divine,Surely it makes my guilt the less Because I called it twenty-nine?So at my sin you will connive . . . You know yourself its thirty-five!