 | The poems of John Wilmot: Earl of Rochester |  |
Regime d'viver
I Rise at Eleven, I Dine about Two,
I get drunk before Seven, and the next thing I do,
I send for my Whore, when for fear of a Clap,
I Spend in her hand, and I Spew in her Lap:
Then we quarrel, and scold, till I fall fast asleep,
When the Bitch, growing bold, to my Pocket does creep;
Then slyly she leaves me, and to revenge th'affront,
At once she bereaves me of Money, and Cunt.
If by chance then I wake, hot-headed, and drunk,
What a coyle do I make for the loss of my Punck?
I storm and I roar, and I fall in a rage,
And missing my Whore, I bugger my Page:
Then crop-sick, all Morning, I rail at my Men,
And in Bed I lye Yawning, till Eleven again.
I get drunk before Seven, and the next thing I do,
I send for my Whore, when for fear of a Clap,
I Spend in her hand, and I Spew in her Lap:
Then we quarrel, and scold, till I fall fast asleep,
When the Bitch, growing bold, to my Pocket does creep;
Then slyly she leaves me, and to revenge th'affront,
At once she bereaves me of Money, and Cunt.
If by chance then I wake, hot-headed, and drunk,
What a coyle do I make for the loss of my Punck?
I storm and I roar, and I fall in a rage,
And missing my Whore, I bugger my Page:
Then crop-sick, all Morning, I rail at my Men,
And in Bed I lye Yawning, till Eleven again.
| The poems of John Wilmot: Earl of Rochester | |