[A. E. Stallings]

Susan, marvellous translations, especially of "Pedicabo ego vos et irrumabo."

Bear, of course, "Down, Wanton, Down!" Why didn't I think of that? A favorite.

Jack, we DO actually have quite a number of bawdy limericks in the Mastery archives, under the "Guilty Pleasures." So don't despair.

I'm not sure this counts as bawdy exactly, but I did think of this one by E.E. Cummings. Don't think it could get published nowadays. Interestingly, though now his reputation is for whimsical love poems, in his day he was known as the shocking "bad-boy" of poetry:


22 (from "73 Poems")

annie died the other day

never was there such a lay--
whom,among her dollies,dad
first("don't tell your mother")had;
making annie slightly mad
but very wonderful in bed
--saints and satyrs,go your way

youths and maidens:let us pray

[Nigel Holt]

Great stuff- I didn't know there was so much bawd in the old masters - or masters in a an old bawd...

I decided to put this piece here, even though it's a song, as it's fabulously indecorous and goes well with the theme:
Does anyone know the history of these and perhaps alternate verses?


The Good Ship Venus

(Traditional)


'Twas on the good ship Venus,
By Christ you should have seen us;
The figurehead
Was a whore in bed
Sucking a dead man's penis.

The captain's name was Lugger.
By Christ he was a bugger.
He wasn't fit
To shovel shit
From one ship to another.

The first mate's name was Carter.
By God he was a farter.
When the wind wouldn't blow,
And the ship wouldn't go,
Carter the farter would start 'er.

The second mate's name was Hopper.
By God he had a whopper;
Twice round the deck,
Thrice round his neck,
And up his arse for a stopper.

The second mate was Andy,
By Christ he had a dandy,
Till they crushed his cock
On a jagged rock
For coming in the brandy.

The third mate's name was Morgan,
By god he was a gorgon,
From half past eight
he played till late,
Upon the captain's organ.

The captain's wife was Mabel,
And by God was she able
To give the crew
Their daily screw
Upon the galley table.

The captain's daughter Charlotte,
Was born and bred a harlot,
Her thighs at night
were lily white,
By morning they were scarlet.

The cabin boy was Kipper,
By Christ he was a nipper.
He stuffed his arse
with broken glass
And circumcised the skipper.

The captain's lovely daughter
Liked swimming in the water.
Delighted squeals
Came when some eels
Swam into her sexual quarters.

The cook his name was Freeman,
He was a dirty demon,
He fed the crew
On menstral stew
And hymens fried in semen.

The ship's dog's name was Rover,
We turned that poor thing over,
And ground and ground
that faithful hound
From Tenerife to Dover.

And when we reached our station,
Through skillful navigation,
The ship got sunk
in a wave of spunk,
From too much fornication.


Alternatives


The captain's name was Morgan,
By Christ he was a gorgon.
Ten times a day
He'd stop and play
With his fucking organ.

The first mate's name was Carter.
By God he was a farter.
He could fart anything
from God Save the King
To Beethoven's Moonlight Sonata.

The captain's daughter, Mabel,
Though young, was fresh and able,
To fornicate
with the second mate,
Upon the chartroom table

More Alternatives

THE GOOD SHIP VENUS.
(Traditional - with very, very many variations)

Twas on the good ship Venus,
By gad! You should have seen us,
The figure-head was a whore in bed,
And the mast a rampant penis.

The Captain of this lugger,
He was a dirty bugger,
He wasn't fit to shovel shit,
From one deck to the other.

The Master's name was Cooper,
By god he was a trooper,
He jerked and jerked until he worked
Himself into a stupor.

The first mate's name was Paul
He only had one ball,
But with that cracker he rolled tobacco,
Around the cabin wall.

The third mate's name was Morgan,
A Homosexual gorgon,
Three times a day fine tunes he'd play
Upon the Captain's organ.

I'll tell you more of Morgan,
By God, he was a Gorgon,
Six men could ride with legs astride
Upon his sexual organ.

The Captain's randy daughter,
Was swimming in the water,
Delighted squeals came as the eels,
Entered her sexual quarter.

The Captain loved the cabin boy,
He loved him like a brother,
And every night between the sheets,
They cornholed one another.

The cabin boy was Kipper,
The filthy little nipper,
He stuffed his arse with broken glass
And circumcised the skipper.

The cabin boy, the cabin boy,
His first name was Davy,
He filled his bum with bubble gum,
And vulcanised the Navy.

The bosun's name was Hopper,
By Christ he had a whopper,
Twice round the deck, once round his neck
And up his arse as a stopper.

But the bosun's plan was prosperous,
He dipped his cock in phosphorous;
All through the night it kept alight
To guide us through the Bosporous.

The cook was Old O'Malley,
He didn't dilly-dally.
He shot his bolt with a hell of a jolt,
And whitewashed half the galley.

The trainee cook was Wooden,
By Christ he was a good'un;
He tossed off twice in a bag of rice
And called it sago puddin'.

We caught little Middie Tupper
And rubbed his balls with butter;
The charge whizzed past the mizzen mast
And foamed against the scupper.

There was Midshipman Caruthers,
Beloved of all the others;
He wasn't quite a hermaphrodite,
But a mistake of his mothers.

The gunner was McPherson
To snatch had an aversion,
So he stuck his cock up a water-cock,
A peculiar perversion!

The ship's dog's name was Rover,
The whole crew did him over.
They ground and ground that faithful hound
From Singapore to Dover.

There was Able Seaman Carter,
By God he was a farter.
When the wind wouldn't blow and the ship wouldn't go,
Carter, the farter, would start her.

A fine musician Carter
He a tuneful bloody farter.
He could play anything from God Save The King
To Beethoven's' Moonlight Sonata.

The Fifth Mate's name was Slater,
He was a masturbator.
He'd pump and pump his massive stump,
And clean the mess up later.

The Sixth mate's name was Andy,
By God that man was randy.
We boiled his bum in red-hot rum,
For cumming in the brandy.

The Captain was elated,
The crew investigated.
They found some sand in his prostate gland,
And he had to be castrated.

On every foot of rigging,
There were sailors frigging,
In the lookout's nest, they'd take a rest,
From their poking and their digging.

'Twas in the Adriatic,
Where the water's almost static,
The rise and fall of cock and ball,
Was almost automatic.

We sailed to the Canaries,
To screw the local fairies;
We got the syph in Tenerife
And the clap in Buenos Aires.

Sailing on the Sargasso,
To make the doldrums pass, Oh,
We'd launch a spree of buggery,
Upon each other's assholes.

We knew sooner or later,
Approaching the equator,
That every Jack would have a whack,
At turning fornicator.

Each sailor lad's a brother,
To each and one another,
We'd take great pains at our daisy chains,
Whilst writing home to mother.

We saw a Spanish Galleon,
Its figurehead a stallion,
And when we saw it was full of whores,
There wasn't any dallyin'.

The end of this narration,
Is a credit to the nation,
For we sunk the junk in a sea of spunk,
Caused by mutual masturbation.

For though we reached our station,
Through skilful navigation,
The ship got sunk, in a wave of spunk,
From too much fornication.

So now we end this serial,
Through sheer lack of material,
I wish you luck and freedom from,
Diseases venereal.

Having done minutes of unpaid research into this topic since posting, I have discovered that there are literally hundreds of variations on the theme of this song... sailors must have had a rum old time...

Nigel




[This message has been edited by Nigel Holt (edited January 25, 2002).]

[Hugh Clary]

Not bawdy, so could be off topic, but I suspect this verse is the origin of the Venus parody:

Tale of the Gyascutus (Anon.)

This is the tale that was told to me
By a battered and shattered son of the sea--
To me and my messmate, Silas Green,
When I was a guileless young marine.

'Twas the good ship Gyascutus,
All in the China seas,
With the wind a-lee and the capstan free
To catch the summer breeze.

'Twas Captain Porgie on the deck,
To his mate in the mizzen hatch,
While the boatswain bold in the forward hold,
Was winding his larboard watch.

"Oh, how does our good ship head to-night?
How heads our gallant craft?"
"Oh, she heads to the E.S.W. by N.,
And the binnacle lies abaft!"

"Oh, what does the quadrant indicate,
And how does the sextant stand?"
"Oh, the sextant's down to the freezing point,
And the quadrant's lost a hand!"

"Oh, and if the quadrant has lost a hand,
And the sextant falls so low,
It's our bodies and bones to Davy Jones
This night are bound to go!"

"Oh, fly aloft to the garboard strake!
And reef the spanker boom;
Bend a studding sail on the martingale
To give her weather room."

"Oh, boatswain, down in the for'ard hold,
What water do you find?"
"Four foot and a half by the royal gaff
And rather more behind!"

"Oh, sailors, collar your marlin spikes
And each belaying pin;
Come stir your stumps and spike the pumps,
Or more will be coming in."

They stirred their stumps, they spiked the pumps,
They spliced the mizzen brace;
Aloft and alow they worked, but oh!
The water gained apace.

They bored a hole above the keel
To let the water out;
But strange to say, to their dismay,
The water in did spout.

Then up spoke the cook of our gallant ship
And he was a lubber brave;
"I have several wives in various ports,
And my life I'd orter save."

Then up spoke the Captain of Marines,
Who dearly loved his prog;
"It's awful to die, and it's worse to be dry,
And I move we pipes to grog."

Oh, then 'twas the noble second mate
What filled them all with awe;
The second mate, as bad men hate,
And cruel skippers jaw.

He took the anchor on his back
And leaped into the main;
Through foam and spray he clove his way,
And sunk and rose again.

Through foam and spray, a league away
The anchor stout he bore;
Till, safe at last, he made it fast,
And warped the ship ashore!

'Tain't much of a job to talk about,
But a ticklish thing to see;
And suth'in to do, if I say it too,
For that second mate was me!

Such was the tale that was told to me,
By that modest and truthful son of the sea,
And I envy the life of a second mate
Though captains curse him and sailors hate,
For he ain't like some of the swabs I've seen,
As would go and lie to a poor marine.

[Nigel Holt]

Thanks Hugh - interesting to see it. You should post your Frost parody here, as it's the funniest thing I've seen in a good while - I hope to see it in the prison gazette when it's published

Another by John Wilmot - or rather - by John Wilmot this time. The blurb below is from the site, so I thought I'd keep it in.


The Disabled Debauchee

by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester

The most notorious libertine, bisexual poet of the 17th Century, was also a a successful Naval officer - and this was his rather jaundiced view of his future.


As some brave admiral, in former war,
Deprived of force, but pressed with courage still,
Two rival fleets appearing from afar,
Crawls to the top of an adjacent hill;

From whence (with thoughts full of concern) he views
The wise and daring conduct of the fight,
And each bold action to his mind renews
His present glory, and his past delight;

From his fierce eyes, flashes of rage he throws,
As from black clouds when lightning breaks away,
Transported, thinks himself amidst his foes,
And absent yet enjoys the bloody day;

So when my days of impotence approach,
And I'm by pox and wine's unlucky chance,
Driven from the pleasing billows of debauch,
On the dull shore of lazy temperance,

My pains at last some respite shall afford,
Whilst I behold the battles you maintain,
When fleets of glasses sail about the board,
From whose broadsides volleys of wit shall rain.

Nor shall the sight of honourable scars,
Which my too-forward valour did procure,
Frighten new-listed soldiers from the wars.
Past joys have more than paid what I endure.

Should hopeful youths (worth being drunk) prove nice,
And from their fair inviters meanly shrink,
'Twould please the ghost of my departed vice,
If at my counsel they repent and drink.

Or should some cold-complexioned set forbid,
With his dull morals, our night's brisk alarms,
I'll fire his blood by telling what I did,
When I was strong and able to bear arms.

I'll tell of whores attacked, their lords at home,
Bawds' quarters beaten up, and fortress won,
Windows demolished, watches overcome,
And handsome ills by my contrivance done.

Nor shall our love-fits, Cloris, be forgot,
When each the well-looked link-boy strove t'enjoy,
And the best kiss was the deciding lot:
Whether the boy fucked you, or I the boy.

With tales like these I will such heat inspire,
As to important mischief shall incline.
I'll make them long some ancient church to fire,
And fear no lewdness they're called to by wine.

Thus statesman-like, I'll saucily impose,
And safe from danger valiantly advise,
Sheltered in impotence, urge you to blows,
And being good for nothing else, be wise.

[Nigel Holt]

One more from the Peer:

Song

Love a woman? You're an ass.
'Tis a most insipid passion
To choose out for your happiness
The idlest part of God's creation.

Let the porter and the groom,
Things designed for dirty slaves,
Drudge in fair Aurelia's womb
To get supplies for age and graves.

Farewell, woman! I intend
Henceforth every night to sit
With my lewd, well-natured friend,
Drinking to engender wit.

Then give me health, wealth, mirth, and wine,
And if busy Love intrenches,
There's a sweet, soft page of mine
Does the trick worth forty wenches.

[Hugh Clary]

Well, heck, if we can include our own parodies of the masters, here is one I stole from C.S. Calverly:

A, B, C.
========

A is the Angel of blushing fifteen
B is the Bathroom where Angel is seen
C is her Cunny, a sight that is grand
D is the Dick that I hold in my hand
E is the Eye I have pressed to the slot
F is the Finger that diddles her twat
G is the Glove of superlative kid
H is my Hand that is stroking nonskid
I is the Inch that her digits are deep
J is the Juice she has started to seep
K is the Keyhole that offers the view
L is her Labia covered with dew
M is the Mess I'm beginning to leak
N is her Nub that has started to peek
O is the Odor that wafts to my nose
P is the Pink of her succulent rose
Q is the Quaver she makes with her lips
R is the Red at the tips of her nips
S is the Squirt that I shoot on the floor
T is the Turn that she makes to the door
U is the Utterly horrible thought
V is the Very good chance I'll be caught
W is the Whirl that I take down the hall
X is the Exit I make with a crawl
Y is the Yawn as I slide into bed
Z is the Zero of cares in my head

[Gail White]

I'm surprised no one has mentioned the scatalogical verses of Jonathan Swift. I don't have a copy to hand, but I remember one called "The Lady's Dressing Chamber", in which the lover steals into his beloved's bedroom and uncovers various disgusting things, including the chamber pot, after which the lover departs
Repeating in his amorous fits
Oh Celia, Celia, Celia shits!

As to limericks, I have seen the following attributed to no less a pen than that of Swinburne:

There was a young girl from Aberystwyth
Who took grain to the mill to get grist with,
Where the miller's lad Jack
Threw her flat on her back
And united the organs they pissed with.

[Hugh Clary]

Spendid! I understand Swinburne's personal life was rather salacious as well.

Am I the only one who wonders if the Bard could have been speaking of a bovine romance in his Sonnet 130?

SONNET #130
By William Shakespeare

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.
I have seen roses demasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.
I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.
And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

[ginger]

Last year I took a course on love & sex in the Italian Renaissance. One of our texts was Bette Talvachhia's "Taking Positions: On the Erotic in Renaissance Culture." In it, Talvacchia translates 16 really lewd sonnets written by Pietro Aretino in the early 16th century. He wrote them to accompany a series of drawings depicting couples in various sexual positions. Unfortunately, I lent the book out and haven't gotten it back yet. I start back to school Monday. If I think of it, I'll stop by the library and see if they have a copy.

Ginger

[Robert J. Clawson]

Tale from Athenaeus

Axiochus and Alcibiades --
Two well-endowed and handsom gallants -- go
Off to the selfsame furrow, there to sow
The wildest of their oats. Now, one of these
Young lovers sows is seed, indeed, so well
That, as you might expect, the demoiselle
Brings forth a daughter; one, in fact, so fair
That each claims credit for the bagatelle.
In time the lass, lovely beyond compare,
Has learned her mother's lessons; such that now,
Grown lustful of the belle, each of our pair,
No longer fatherly, will disavow
His claim. Says one: "But how can you deny
Your spit and image? Clearly she's your kin!"
"No! Yours!" the other parries in reply.
"Besides, for such a one I'll risk the sin."


A little number from LaFontaine's Bawdy, Norman Shapiro, 1992 Princeton U. Press. Mostly long numbers, but some wonderful illustrations.