John

Wilmot

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THE DYING LOVER TO HIS PRICK

Lord John Wilmot

Happy spark of heavenly flame!
Pride and wonder of man's frame!
Why is pleasure so soon flying?
Why so short this bliss of dying?
Cease, fond pego, cease the strife,
And yet indulge a moment's life.

Hark! cunt whispers. Don't she say,
Brother pego come away?
What is this absorbs me quite,
Seals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath?
Tell me, my prick, can this be death?

Now you recede, now disappear!
My eye looks round in vain; my ear,
Fanny your Murmur rings:
Lend, lend your hand! I mount! I die!
O Prick, how great thy Victory?
O Pleasure, sweet thy stings.