Much wine had passed, with grave discourse,
Of who fucks who, and who does worse
(Such as you usually do hear
From those that diet at the Bear),
When I, who still take care to see
Drunkenness relieved by lechery,
Went out into St. James' Park
To cool my head and dire my heart,
But though St. James has the' honour on't,
'Tis consecrate to prick and cunt.
There, by a most incestuous Birth,
Strange Woods Spring from the teeming Earth;
For they relate how heretofore,
When Ancient Picts began to Whore,
Deluded of his Assignation,
(Jilting it seems was then the fashion.)
Poor pensive Lover in this place,
Would Frig upon his Mother's Face;
Whence Rows of Mandrakes tall did rise,
Whose Lewd tops Fuck'd the very Skies.
Each imitated Branch do's twine
In some Love Fold of Arctine;
And nightly now beneath their Shade
Are Bugg'ries, Rapes and Incests made,
Unto this All-sin-Sheltering Grove,
Whores of the Bulk and the Alcove,
Great Ladies, Chambermaids and Drudges,
The Rag-picker and Heiress trudges.

-- John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester

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