Oh, poking ts a pleasure, we all must enjoy,
Tho’ I had it for ever, it never would cloy ;
To any young man on the grass I would fall,
And if cunt would allow it, take bollox and all !
THE REVERIE.
What dull and senseless lumps we’d be,
If never of felicity
We tasted ; and what bliss is there
To equal that of fucking rare ?
An age of grief, an age of pain,
I would endure and ne’er complain ;
To purchase but an hour’s charms,
While wriggling in a maiden’s arms !
And hugging her to heavenly rest,
My hand reposing on her breast !
Her arse my own, her thighs my screen,
My penis standing in between !
My bollox hanging down below,
And banging ’gainst her arse of snow ;
Or else grasped firmly in her hand,
To make my yard more stiffly stand.
How soon the blood glows in the veins,
And nature all its power now strains ;
The belly heaves, the penis burns,
The maiden all its heat returns,
Till passion holds triumphant sway,
And both the lovers die away.
