Classic Poem

Dreaming last night on Mrs. Farley,
My prick was up this morning early;
And I was fain without my gown
'To rise in the cold to get him down.
Hard shift, alas, but yet a sure,
Although it be no pleasing cure.
Of old the fair Egyptian slattern,
For luxury that had no pattern,
To fortify her Roman swinger,
Instead of nutmeg, mace and ginger,
Did spice his bowls (as story tells)
With warts of rocks and spawn of shells.
It had been happy for her Grace
Had I been in the rascal's place.
I who do scorn that any stone
Should raise my pintle but my own,
Had laid her down on every couch
And saved her pearl and diamond brooch
Until her hot-tailed Majesty,
Being happily reclaimed by me
From all her wild expensive ways,
Had worn her gems on holidays.
But since her cunt has long done itching,
Let us discourse of modern bitching.
I must entreat you by this letter
To enquire for whores, the more the better:
Hunger makes any man a glutton.
If Roberts, Thomas, Mrs. Dutton
Or any other bawds of note,
Inform of a fresh petticoat,
Enquire, I pray, with friendly care,
Where their respective lodgings are.
Some do compare a man t'a bark —
A pretty metaphor, pray mark —
And with a long and tedious story
Will all the tackling lay before ye:
The sails are hope, the masts desire,
Till they the gentlest reader tire.
But howsoe'er they keep a pudder,
I'm sure the pintle is the rudder:
The powerful rudder which of force
To town will shortly steer my course;
And if you do not there provide
A port where I may safely ride,
Landing in haste, in some foul creek,
'Tis ten to one I spring a leak.
Next, I must make it my request,
If you have any interest,
Or can by any means discover
Some lamentable rhyming lover,
Who shall in numbers harsh and vile
His mistress " Nymph " or " Goddess " style,
Send all his labors down to me
By the first opportunity.
Or any Knights of your Round Table,
To other scribblers formidable,
Guilty themselves of the same crime
Dress nonsense up in ragged rhyme,
As once a week they seldom fail
Inspired by love and Gridiron ale.
Or any paltry poetry,
Though from the University,
Who when the King and Queen were there
Did both their wit and learning spare,
And have (I hope) endeavored since
To make the world some recompense.
Such damned fustian, when you meet,
Be not too rash or indiscreet
(Though they can plead no just excuses)
To put 'em to their proper uses —
The fatal privy or the fire,
Their nobler foe — at my desire
Restrain your natural profuseness,
And spare 'em, though you have a looseness.