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[Rochester
had to flee the court for several months
after
handing this to the King by mistake.]
In th'
isle of Britain, long since famous grown
For breeding
the best cunts in Christendom,
There reigns, and oh!
long may he reign and thrive,
The easiest King and
best bred man alive.
Him no ambition moves to get
reknown
Like the French fool, that wanders up and
down
Starving his people, hazarding his crown.
Peace is his aim, his gentleness is such,
And love he
loves, for he loves fucking much.
Nor are his high
desires above his strength:
His scepter and his prick
are of a length;
And she may sway the one who plays
with th' other,
And make him little wiser than his
brother.
Poor Prince! thy prick, like thy buffoons at
court,
Will govern thee because it makes thee sport.
'Tis sure the sauciest prick that e'er did swive,
The
proudest, peremptoriest prick alive.
Though safety,
law, religion, life lay on 't,
'Twould break through
all to make its way to cunt.
Restless he rolls about
from whore to whore,
A merry monarch, scandalous and
poor.
To Carwell, the most dear of all his dears,
The best relief of his declining years,
Oft he
bewails his fortune, and her fate:
To love so well,
and be beloved so late.
Yet his dull, graceless
bollocks hang an arse.
This you'd believe, had I but
time to tell ye
The pains it costs to poor, laborious
Nelly,
Whilst she employs hands, fingers, mouth, and
thighs,
Ere she can raise the member she enjoys.
All monarchs I hate, and the thrones they sit on,
From the hector of France to the cully of Britain.
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