So a proud bitch does lead about

Of humble curs the amorous rout,

Who most obsequiously do hunt

The savory scent of salt-swoln cunt.

Some power more patient now relate

The sense of this surprising fate.

Gods! that a thing admired by me

Should fall to so much infamy.

Had she picked out, to rub her arse on,

Some stiff-pricked clown or well-hung parson,

Each job of whose spermatic sluice

Had filled her cunt with wholesome juice,

I the proceeding should have praised

In hope sh' had quenched a fire I raised.

Such natural freedoms are but just:

There's something generous in mere lust.

But to turn a damned abandoned jade

When neither head nor tail persuade;

To be a whore in understanding,

A passive pot for fools to spend in!

The devil played booty, sure, with thee

To bring a blot on infamy.

[Tired of listing John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester's birthplace as my location, so I've changed it to my actual location - Chicago.]

now on y@hu as earlofrochester48