HERE costive many minutes did I strain, Still squeezing, sweating, swearing, all in vain; When lo! who should pop by but mother Masters,' At whose bewitching look soon stubborn arse stirs. No more my wanton wit shall whip thy wife, Dear, doting Dick, for O! she saved my life. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...REVELATION by LOUIS UNTERMEYER MARY, QUEEN OF SCOTS by HENRY GLASSFORD BELL TO MOSCOW by EDNA DEAN PROCTOR FIDELIA: 4. THE AUTHOR'S RESOLUTION IN A SONNET by GEORGE WITHER ARMSTRONG'S GOOD NIGHT by THOMAS ARMSTRONG A FAIRY TALE by PHILIP JAMES BAILEY |