Snowdrops from a Curate’s Garden

[110] ALL THE WORLD’S A BROTHEL All the world’s a brothel, And all the men and women whores and buggers. They have their exits and their entrances. And one man in his time lets many farts. His arsehole being an octave. First the Infant Violently rogered by an aged duke : And then the frigging schoolboy, with his scrotum And shining gland, his spend mere slime of snail Unwilling from the tool. And then the lover Fucking like a furnace, with a woeful ballad Made to his mistress’ bottom. Then a soldier Full of stiff spunk and bollocked like the bull, Jealous of sapphists, sudden and quick to come, Seeking the bubble gonorrhea Even in the bitch’s mouth. And then the justice In fair round belly soaked with mercury With stand severe, and fuck of formal type, Full of wise tricks and modern aids to love ; And so he lets his fart. The sixth age shifts Into the lean and slippered pantaloon With drooping penis, balls withdrawn in belly, His youthful whore well fucked, a world too wide For his shrunk prick : and his big manly piss, Turning again toward childish treble, pipes And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all That ends this strange eventful history Is second impotence and mere castration : — Sans prick, sans balls, sans stand, sans everything.