Mock Song
I swive as well as others do;
Were all my body larded o'er
by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester
I'm young, not yet deformed;
My tender heart, sincere and true,
Deserves not to be scorned.
Why Phyllis then, why will you swive
With forty lovers more?
Can I (said she) with Nature strive?
Alas I am, alas I am a whore.
With darts of love so thick
That you might find in every pore
A well-stuck standing prick,
Whilst yet my eyes alone were free,
My heart would never doubt
In am'rous rage and ecstasy
To wish those eyes, to wish those eyes fucked out.