Classic Poem

My duchess was the werst she laffed she bitte
She tussled burste her stayes wore redde garters
Above her plumpely saucey knees martyrs
To her charytees she teesed her swete fitte
Until her rose bloomed kysses her whyes andde
Fores helde me inne curious joye our pryde wedde
Rapydely furious my warryer inlande
Conquered buxomy buckinge thyghabedde.

Saynt Patte butte pettycots hyde all that's rare
Andde God the nyghte is cheerfull in her charmes
And dawne is lyke a woman's uncombed hare
When nyghte wythedrawes andde fromme her pleasante armes
I turne to curse the clouded sourefaced moone
Ye Fish! A Warryer's not for pece that soone.