Today's poems [2.1.12]
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Q. Flaccus in his third liber:
"The Romans have no wood-pulp fiber.
A crapulent quorum
Will squat in the Forum
And heave dirty stones in the Tiber."
A whore grown too old to get laid
Turned parfumeuse, finding it paid
To concoct Fleur de Floozie
From the juice of her coosie
(Substantial discount to the trade).
There was an old gent from Kentuck
Who boasted a filigreed schmuck,
But he put it away
For fear that one day
He might put it in and get stuck.
A lacklustre lady of Brougham
Weaveth all night at her loom.
Anon she doth blench
When her lord and his wench
Pull a chain in the neighboring room.
As Apollo was chasing the fair
Daphne she vanished in air.
He could find but a shrub
With thick bark on the hub
And not even a knot-hole to spare.
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