Selected quad for the lemma: cause_n
Text snippets containing the quad
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A57495
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Poems on several occasions by the right honourable the E. of R-
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Rochester, John Wilmot, Earl of, 1647-1680.
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1680
(1680)
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Wing R1754; ESTC R33544
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58,109
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152
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th' Maids Daughter of noble Race Whilst Men of God to Betty B go VVhist Prick and Pen with White and Black does flow My lasting Verse shall magnifie the fame And melting Tarse adore thy holy name Therefore dear Mother lend thine equal Ear To my complaint and favour my just Prayer There is a place a down a gloomy Vale the Bath VVhere burthen'd Nature lays her nasty Tail Then Thousand Pilgrims thither do resort For ease disease for letchery and sport Thither two Beldames and a jilting Wife Came to swive off the tedious hours of life I willing to contribute to their joy Offer'd my Myte to th' young unsatiate Toy Who banish'd Cuck cause Cunt he cou'd not cloy Here upright Dame Kill-prick the wise old Jew Told me I must Twelve times her Womb bedew E're her Child Suck-prick shou'd her Buttocks shew Resolu'd to win like Hercules the Prize Twelve times I scour'd the Kennel twixt her Thighs The cheating Jilt at th' Twelft a Dry-Bob cryes My Prick and I thus cross bit in high rage Appeal'd to th' skilful sticklees on the Stage With that fair Tall-boy and bold Suck-prick come To squeeze my Tarse and pass their final doom Saying if on Priapus I cou'd shew One holy Relique of kind Pearly Dew i th' Twelth time in Kill-pricks Arse did Spew To their deriding Test I did submit Priapus squeez'd a Snow-Ball did emit Yet these Two partial Dames a dry Bob cry Perform your Bargain Peer or frigg and dye Thus was I Rook'd of Twelve substantial Fucks By these base stinking over it chink Nocks Your aid your aid dear Mother me inspire With apt revenge to feed my raging fire The gracious Matron smiling on him said Be it as thou desir'st my dear lov'd Lad For this abuse the Rump-fed-Runts shall mourn Till slimey Cunt to grimey A-se hole turn By her Caves Mouth a verdant Mirtle grows Bearing Loves Trophies on his sacred Boughs The Crowns of Kings were offer'd to this Shrine Dildoes and Merkins of thy Royal Line Fair Ladies hearts with Mitred Pricks transfixt In Mystick manner make the Crucifix To th' Tree she leads him from a Bough pulls down A mighty Tool a Dildoe of renown A Dildoe long and large as Hectors Launce Inscrib'd Honi Soit Qui Mal y' Pence Knight of the Garter made for 's vast deserts As Modern Heroe was for 's monstrous parts This pious Son said he nail up in Box By Carryer send it these salt burning Nocks Directed thus To the Lady most deserving Who 's made most Slaves and kept most Pricks from Starving O're-joy'd with hop'd success away he flyes To Bath disguis'd to bear the welcome Prize But when they saw the Image of the Blest Man Who can express how fast how swift they ran Each for her self to seize it no Dog at Deer Nor Hawk at Herne shew'd such a swift carri'ere At once they souse on the beloved Prey And sworn Friends do engage in Mortal Fray Old Kill-prick dreadful to her Friends and Foes Like Luxenburgh in Back and Breast-plate shows Gygantick Tall-boy famed in the West For Cornish Hugg to th fight her self addrest Whilst the Child Suck-prick hop'd to steal away By Stratagem the glory of the Day But all in vain Tall-Boy with one hand held Joves Prize with th' other crafty Suck-prick sell'd But looks not Menaces nor crashing blow Cou'd make stout Kill-prick quit her lov'd Deldoe Undanted she maintain'd a cruel fight For Conquest scratcht and tore withal her might So have I seen a crum-back Crab-louse stick With fervent love to lick creating Prick The more he pulls the more the loving Wretch Doea strive to stay and each Hair does catch Till murdring Man enrag'd from Ballocks tears The Nock-born-Bratt and ends his hopeful years So hard it far'd with Kill-prick had not Fate Sent Man of God to end the dire debate What rage what fury said he do ye stir To shed the Blood of Saints in civil War How well you make the Mother Church to mourn And to Fanaticks be the publick scorn For shame dear Souls reserve your noble blood To spend with Man Abasht the Warriers stood To see the holy Father in the place But strait on the matter putting a good face Thus Kill-prick spake To you O Reverend Sir The justness of this Cause I will transfer A Cause too great for Lay-men vile to try Fit for Plus Ultras deep Divinity A Cause for mhich blest Saints above wou'd dye The modest Tall-boy so devote appears Though stealing Prick you 'd think she had her Prayer's And thouhg she'had almost won the bloody Field With Suck-prick Babe of Grace to this does yield The case being stated holy Man does pray For a Blessing on 's endeavours then does say Whereas sage Matrones you do all agree Your case to yield to my integrity Fitter for general Councel than weak me Dildoe's a Lawful Tool deny 't who can I 'll prove 't is made for a meet help for Man As unto Rector Curate is Assistant So Dildoe's to faln Prick when Cunt has pist on 't But her 's th' Elect ordain'd for Propagation Who trusts in this is blest in Generation This has done more than Turnbridge Bath or Epsom Though ne're so barran this is sure to help ' em Then pulling out the Rector of the Females Nine times he bath'd him in their piping hot Tails Panting quoth he now peace be on ye all VVhen I am absent then one Dildoe call As those in holy Church to Image pray VVhen wonder-working Saint out o' th' way Thus all well pleas'd to Church away they go To sing Te Deum for their dear Dildoe An Allusion to Horace The 10th Satyr of the 1st Book Nempe incomposito Dixi pede c. VVEll Sir 't is granted I said D Rhimes Were stoln unequal nay dull many times VVhat foolish Patron is there found of his So blindly partial to deny me this But that his Plays embroider'd up and down With Wit and Learning justly pleas'd the Town In the same Paper I as freely own Yet having this allow'd the heavy Mass That Stuffs up his loose Volumns must not pass For by that Rule I might aswel admit Crowns tedious Scenes for Poetry and Wit 'T is therefore not enough when your false sense Hits the false Judgment of an Audience Of clapping Fools assembled a vast Crowd Till the throng'd Play-house crack with the dull load Though ev'n that Talent merits in some sort That can divert the Rabble and the Court. Which blundring S never cou'd attain And puzling O labours at in vain But within due proportions circumscribe What e're you write that with a flowing Tide The Style may rise yet in its rise forbear With useless words t' oppress the weary'd Ear. Here be your Language lofty there more light Your Rethorick with your Poetry unite For Elegance sake sometimes allay the force Of Epithets 't will soften the discourse A jeast in scorn points out and hits the