 | The poems of John Wilmot: Earl of Rochester |  |
The Mock Song.
I swive as well as others do,
I'm young, not yet deform'd,
My tender Heart, sincere, and true,
Deserves not to be scorn'd.
Why Phillis then, why will you swive,
With Forty Lovers more?
Can I (said she) with Nature strive,
Alas I am, alas I am a Whore.
I'm young, not yet deform'd,
My tender Heart, sincere, and true,
Deserves not to be scorn'd.
Why Phillis then, why will you swive,
With Forty Lovers more?
Can I (said she) with Nature strive,
Alas I am, alas I am a Whore.
Were all my Body larded o're,
With Darts of love, so thick,
That you might find in ev'ry Pore,
A well stuck standing Prick;
Whilst yet my Eyes alone were free,
My Heart, wou'd never doubt,
In Am'rous Rage, and Extasie,
To wish those Eyes, to wish those Eyes fuckt out.
With Darts of love, so thick,
That you might find in ev'ry Pore,
A well stuck standing Prick;
Whilst yet my Eyes alone were free,
My Heart, wou'd never doubt,
In Am'rous Rage, and Extasie,
To wish those Eyes, to wish those Eyes fuckt out.
| The poems of John Wilmot: Earl of Rochester | |