267

In our new world's law of modern art
And muckbanging, and violinists shamed,
The virgin to his mate is never smart.
She will cry to bed him, or he be lame,
For if he wishes to wait till marriage
He is then called, yes he is called, insane.
I with bad breath, and fat, bulbous carriage,
And oniony armpits and opinions' fame
Like that man who had an audience prime.
Woman, thou Unicorn, cannot be tamed
For your seething desire's just like mine.
The hymen is bloody, and the bed red
The woman's passion aroused yor its time,
If your passions cannot be chaste, instead
It shall then be those red passions of mine.
For the wholesome bride like a Pimp is laid
With his whores and followers and divine
Law abated by female's horny aid. 
What age we live in, virgin's gate's unkept,
Is hellish for the man who seeks love's fay.
For woman, ever so selfish and cruel,
You have made good men at once like old maids.
For you will not then make him morning's gruel
And any love you have for him is feigned;
The Cock's philosophy, who is a fool,
Is the foolish thing you have now purchased,
When before your wholesome brow bore its rule
Over man's raging loves, which made him wait.
Over bonny brooks, you play your wizard's 
Game, which then you then make him ever so gay;
When love is never offered, but your farce
Of womb with pleasant flower, and your arts.