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Please see this document's talk page for details for verification. Ideally this will be a scanned copy of the original that can be uploaded to Wikimedia Commons and proofread. If not, it is preferably a URL; if one is not available, please explain on the talk page. There was a young lady of Harrow. Who complained that her Cunt was too narrow, For times without number She would use a cucumber, But could not accomplish a marrow. There was a young lady of Glasgow, And fondly her lover did ask, "Oh, Pray allow me a fuck," But she said, "No, my duck, But you may, if you please, up my arse go.
There was an old man of Connaught. Whose prick was remarkably short, When he got into bed The old woman said, "This isn't a prick, it's a wart. There was an old parson of Lundy, Fell asleep in his vestry on Sunday; He awoke with a scream, "What, another wet dream, This comes of not frigging since Monday.
There was an Old Man of the Mountain. Who frigged himself into a fountain, Fifteen times had he spent. Still he wasn't content. He simply got tired of the counting. There was a young man of Nantucket. Who went down a well in a bucket; The last words he spoke. Before the rope broke, Were, "Arsehole, you bugger, and suck it.
And in it inserted his prick. It was not for greed after gold; It was not for thirst after pelf; 'Twas simply because he'd been told To bloody well bugger himself. There was a young lass of Dalkeith, Who frigged a young man with her teeth; She complained that he stunk; Not so much from the spunk; But his arsehole was just underneath. There was a gay parson of Norton, Whose prick, although thick, was a short 'un; To make up for this loss, He had balls like a horse. And never spent less than a quartern.