The Weary Dame's Delight скачать в хорошем качестве

The Weary Dame's Delight

music hall, vaudeville, cabaret In the 19th century, “female hysteria” was a broad diagnosis applied to women experiencing symptoms such as anxiety, irritability, insomnia, fainting, or heightened emotion. It was wrongly attributed to uterine dysfunction and treated with methods like the “rest cure” or manual pelvic stimulation intended to induce a so-called “paroxysm" (Orgasm). Lyrics: Oh, Doctor dear, my nerves are frail, They twist and flutter without fail. A heaviness dwells beneath my stays, A restless fire through all my days. The vapors rise, my cheeks grow hot, My limbs grow weak, I know them not. You’ve studied long in learned halls— Come, ease this ache that so enthralls. Oh, heal me, Doctor, heal me true, With skillful hand make all anew. Drive out the storm that grips my frame, And grant this poor hysteric dame The sweet paroxysm, the blessed release— Oh Doctor, bring me perfect peace! I lift my skirts as you request, For science only—nothing less. The room is warm, the oil is fine, You part my knees with touch divine. Your fingers seek the hidden spring, The tender seat of everything. A curious warmth begins to spread, Like summer sun inside my bed. Oh, heal me, Doctor, heal me slow, Let all the ill vapors go. Your circling touch, so firm, so kind, Unravels knots within my mind. The rhythm grows, the fever climbs— Oh, paroxysm, come in time! My breath comes quick, my bosom heaves, A trembling wave my body weaves. Your healing digits press and play, And chase the shadows far away. I feel it build, a rising tide, A secret bloom I can’t abide. My thighs grow tight, my back arches high— What wondrous cure beneath the sky! Oh—oh! The storm within me breaks. A lightning flash, my whole frame shakes. I cry aloud, I cannot fight— A flood of mercy, pure delight! My soul takes wing, my senses reel, The crisis comes—sweet, blessed, real! And now I lie so calm, so still, The vapors gone against my will. My heart is light, my color bright, You’ve set my womanly parts aright. I’ll come again on Thursday next— Your treatment works, I must confess. No husband’s care could ever do What your skilled hand has brought me through. Oh, thank you, Doctor, thank you well, You’ve cured the ache no tongue can tell. With every stroke, with every press, You’ve brought me perfect gentleness. The paroxysm, pure and grand— My truest cure is in your hand.