"And May No Woman Better Thrive/ That Dares Prophane The Cunt I Swive!"

"Have you seen 'The Libertine'?" reader Amanda wanted to know, and we would have used his face as well, but we didn't want to blaspheme Johny Depp by associating him with this horrid email, so we chose our other favorite Libertine, who also fits Amanda's description of a floppy-haired British cad, the sort of cad who makes you feel sorry for all the middling dickweeds you ever called "cad." They met at Oxford, studying English literature, and he comes from money, but you knew that already. It involves a poem, about which all I can say is... "Shall I Compare Thee To A Summer's Day" it ain't. Please take note of the incongruous mix of pretentious words and careless typos; think it's studied? Or are they just BORN like this over there? (Also: WTF with the subject heading?)

> From: @hotmail.com
> To: @hotmail.com
> Subject: RE: Marriage
> Date: Mon, 5 Mar 2007 14:57:22 +0000
>
>
> Hi Amanda, great to hear from you. I liked the second poem more,I like
> poetry when it comes closest to prose and has narrative- the other one a bit
> too oblique for my tastes. Its fun as well. here is one for you from the 17
> th century 'rake' school of poety by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester.
> Beneath the shock value there is a conflict between genuine discluosre of
> quite tender perosnal emotions and the practised raconteur.
>
> A ramble in St james Park
>
> 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,
> Weent out into St. James's Park
> To cool my head and fire my heart.
> But though St. James has th' honor 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 Pict behan to whore,
> Deluded of his assignation
> (Jilting, it seems, was then in fashion),
> Poor pensive lover, in this place
> Would frig upon his mother's face;
> Whence rows of mandrakes tall did rise
> Whose lewd tops fucked the very skies.
> Each imitative branch does twine
> In some loved fold of Aretine,
> And nightly now beneath their shade
> Are buggeries, rapes, and incests made.
> Unto this all-sin-sheltering grove
> Whores of the bulk and the alcove,
> Great ladies, chambermaids, and drudges,
> The ragpicker, and heiress trudges.
> Carmen, divines, great lords, and tailors,
> Prentices, poets, pimps, and jailers,
> Footmen, fine fops do here arrive,
> And here promiscuously they swive.

> Along these hallowed walks it was
> That I beheld Corinna pass.
> Whoever had been by to see
> The proud disdain she cast on me
> Through charming eyes, he would have swore
> She dropped from heaven that very hour,
> Forsaking the divine abode
> In scorn of some despairing god.
> But mark what creatures women are:
> How infinitely vile, when fair!

> Three knights o' the' elbow and the slur
> With wriggling tails made up to her.

> The first was of your Whitehall baldes,
> Near kin t' th' Mother of the Maids;
> Graced by whose favor he was able
> To bring a friend t' th' Waiters' table,
> Where he had heard Sir Edward Sutton
> Say how the King loved Banstead mutton;
> Since when he'd ne'er be brought to eat
> By 's good will any other meat.
> In this, as well as allthe rest,
> He ventures to do like the best,
> But wanting common sense, th' ingredient
> In choosing well not least expedient,
> Converts abortive imitation
> To universal affectation.
> Thus he not only eats and talks
> But feels and smells, sits down and walks,
> Nay looks, and lives, and loves by rote,
> In an old tawdry birthday coat.

> The second was a Grays Inn wit,
> A great inhabiter of the pit,
> Where critic-like he sits and squints,
> Steals pocket handkerchiefs, and hints
> From 's neighbor, and the comedy,
> To court, and pay, his landlady.

> The third, a lady's eldest son
> Within few years of twenty-one
> Who hopes from his propitious fate,
> Against he comes to his estate,
> By these two worthies to be made
> A most accomplished tearing blade.

> One, in a strain 'twixt tune and nonsense,
> Cries, "Madam, I have loved you long since.
> Permit me your fair hand to kiss";
> When at her mouth her cunt cries, "Yes!"
> In short, without much more ado,
> Joyful and pleased, away she flew,
> And with these three confounded asses
> From park to hackney coach she passes.

> So a proud bitch does lead about
> Of humble curs the amorous rout,
> Who most obsequiously do hunt
> The savory scent of salt-swoln cunt.
> Some power more patient now relate
> The sense of this surprising fate.
> Gods! that a thing admired by me
> Should fall to so much infamy.
> Had she picked out, to rub her arse on,
> Some stiff-pricked clown or well-hung parson,
> Each job of whose spermatic sluice
> Had filled her cunt with wholesome juice,
> I the proceeding should have praised
> In hope sh' had quenched a fire I raised.
> Such natural freedoms are but just:
> There's something generous in mere lust.
> But to turn a damned abandoned jade
> When neither head nor tail persuade;

> To be a whore in understanding,
> A passive pot for fools to spend in!
> The devil played booty, sure, with thee
> To bring a blot on infamy.

> But why am I, of all mankind,
> To so severe a fate designed?
> Ungrateful! Why this treachery
> To humble fond, believing me,
> Who gave you privilege above
> The nice allowances of love?
> Did ever I refuse to bear
> The meanest part your lust could spare?
> When your lewd cunt came spewing home
> Drenched with the seed of half the town,
> My dram of sperm was supped up after
> For the digestive surfeit water.
> Full gorged at another time
> With a vast meal of slime
> Which your devouring cunt had drawn
> From porters' backs and footmen's brawn,
> I was content to serve you up
> My ballock-full for your grace cup,
> Nor ever thought it an abuse
> While you had pleasure for excuse -
> You tht could make my heart away
> For noise and color, and betray
> The secrets of my tender hours
> To such knight-errant paramours,
> When, leaning on your faithless breast,
> Wrapped in security and rest,
> Soft kindness all my powers did move,
> And reason lay dissolved in love!

> May stinking vapors choke your womb
> Such as the men you dote upon
> May your depraved appetite,
> That could in whiffling fools delight,
> Beget such frenzies in your mind
> You may go mad for the north wind,
> And fixing all your hopes upon't
> To have him bluster in your cunt,
> Turn up your longing arse t' th' air
> And perish in a wild despair!
> But cowards shall forget to rant,
> Schoolboys to frig, old whores to paint;
> The Jesuits' fraternity
> Shall leave the use of buggery;
> Crab-louse, inspired with grace divine,
> From earthly cod to heaven shall climb;
> Physicians shall believe in Jesus,
> And disobedience cease to please us,
> Ere I desist with all my power
> To plague this woman and undo her.
> But my revenge will best be timed
> When she is married that is limed.
> In that most lamentable state
> I'll make her feel my scorn and hate:
> Pelt her with scandals, truth or lies,
> And her poor cur with jealousied,
> Till I have torn him from her breech,
> While she whines like a dog-drawn bitch;
> Loathed and despised, kicked out o' th' Town
> Into some dirty hole alone,
> To chew the cud of misery
> And know she owes it all to me.

> And may no woman better thrive
> That dares prophane the cunt I swive!
>
>
>
> By the way, can I take it as a given that we both have absolutely nothing to
> worry about our sexual healths? Sorry I realise this is probably a needless
> question buit its just good to be clear in your mind that we're both ok. The
> poem of course is completely unrelated- I think it is simply quite
> memorable- esp. like the contemptuous "but to be a whore in understanding".