I'll treat you as 'tis meet, I swear,
Lascivious monsters as ye are!
Aurelius, Furius! who arraign
And judge me by my wanton strain.
The learned poet, I agree,
Should in himself quite decent be:
But what has decency to do
With his rich hoard of numbers too?
Which then have truest wit and sense,
When season'd with sweet impudence;
When they not only can excite
Your prurient boys to salt delight;
But when your greybeards too they move,
Unpliant in the feats of love.
And yet, because my songs of bliss
Are sprinkled o'er with many a kiss,
You censure; and, forsooth, conclude
That I'm effeminately lewd.
But mark; if e'er you should peruse
The wand'rings of my sportive muse,
If haply o'er my luscious page
Your hands should rove in lustful rage;
I'll treat you as 'tis meet, I swear,
Lascivious monsters as ye are!