The Mock Song

I swive as well as others do,
I’ m young, not yet deformed,
My tender heart, sincere, and true,
Deserves not to be scorned.

Why Phyllis then, why will you swive,
With forty lovers more?
Can I (said she) with Nature strive,
Alas I am, alas I am a whore.

Were all my body larded o’ er,
With darts of love, so thick,
That you might find in ev’ ry pore,
A well stuck standing prick;

Whilst yet my eyes alone were free,
My heart, would never doubt,
In am’ rous rage, and ecstasy,
To wish those eyes, to wish those eyes fucked out.