Classic Poem

When to the King I bid good Morrow,
With Tongue in Mouth, and Hand on Tarse,
Portsmouth may rend her Cunt for Sorrow,
And Mazarine may kisse myne Arse. Ports:

When Englands Monarch's on my Belly
With Prick in Cunt, tho' double Cramm'd,
Fart of mine Arse, for small whore Nelly
And Great Whore Mazarine be damn'd. King

When on Portsmouths Lapp, I lay my Head
And Knight do's sing her Bawdy Song,
I envy not George Porters Bed
Nor the Delights of Madam Long. People

— Now Heav'ns preserve our Faiths Defendor,
From Paris Plotts, and Roman Cunt,
From Mazarine, that new Pretendor,
And from that Politic Gramount.