By All Love's Soft, Yet Mighty Powers

By all love's soft, yet mighty powers,It is a thing unfit,That men should fuck in time of flowers,Or when the smock's beshit.Fair nasty nymph, be clean and kind,And all my joys restore;By using paper still behind,And sponges for before.My spotless flames can ne'er decay,If after every close,My smoking prick escape the fray,Without a bloody nose.If thou would have me true, be wise,And take to

The Imperfect Enjoyment

Naked she lay, clasped in my longing arms,I filled with love, and she all over charms;Both equally inspired with eager fire,Melting through kindness, flaming in desire.With arms,legs,lips close clinging to embrace,She clips me to her breast, and sucks me to her face.Her nimble tongue, Love's lesser lightening, playedWithin my mouth, and to my thoughts conveyedSwift orders that I should prepare to

An Allusion to Horace

Well Sir, 'tis granted, I said Dryden's Rhimes,Were stoln, unequal, nay dull many times:What foolish Patron, is there found of his,So blindly partial, to deny me this?But that his Plays, Embroider'd up and downe,With Witt, and Learning, justly pleas'd the Towne,In the same paper, I as freely owne:Yet haveing this allow'd, the heavy Masse,That stuffs up his loose Volumes must not passe:For by that