[Hugh Clary]

Interesting little ditty. Axiochus and Alcibiades, though - is there any more to be found about this choice of characters? I saw references to Plato on the 'net. Perhaps there are secrets to be uncovered?

[Robert J. Clawson]

[quote]Originally posted by Hugh Clary:

"Axiochus and Alcibiades, though - is there any more to be found about this choice of characters? I saw references to Plato on the 'net. Perhaps there are secrets to be uncovered?"

Nothing in my edition's notes, Hugh. Great pics, though.

Bob

[A. E. Stallings]

Yes, I was thinking of Swift, thanks for bringing him up, but my own library is pretty thin...

Alcibiades was famously handsome and rich and debauched (and a very close friend of Socrates.) He got himself in trouble for, allegedly, lopping off the, er, members from the Hermes statues in Athens... (Sort of like obscene garden gnomes...)

[Jim Hayes]

For Ginger; I'd like to know where the Italian Renaissance is and can anyone go?

Jim

[Nigel Holt]

One for Kipling lovers...


Stiff

If you can give good head when all about you
Are spitting hairs and blaming shit on you;
If you can suck yourself when all men want to,
So make a members list for them to add to;
If you masturbate and don’t tire elating,
Or, being lain upon, don't feign surprise,
Or, being plated, don't get bored while waiting,
And yet don't like dry crud, nor red-rubbed thighs;

If you wet dream - but don’t in dreams come faster;
If you can shoot - and still improve your aim;
If you can box with Pollux or with Castor
And fuck the two Dioscuri the same;
If you can bear to smell the fart all choke on
Twisted by bowels to make them bray like mules,
Or watch the films where natural law is broken,
And stoop and check 'em out your worn-out tools;

If you can make it cheap for better sinning
Then risk it on one trick with cart-and-hoss,
And lose, and get sent down for your deep grinning
And never breath a word about old Floss;
If you can stuff her hide with meaty sinew
To serve your needs long after she has none,
And so hold on when the devil’s in you
And have the thrill to shout to her: "Geron-";

If you can pork with flocks until it hurts you,
Or poke with queens - and lap the common slut;
If neither hives nor syphillis can hurt you;
If all flesh counts with you, whether man or mutt;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of spermed Niagra -
Yours is the girth and everything that's round it,
And - what is more - you'll need Viagra!

[Gail White]

Query: Does anyone know the complete words of the classic bawdy song, "Bollocky Bill the Sailor?"

I have sought this in vain for years.

Thanks--

[bear_music]

Here ya go, Gail:

Bollocky Bill, The Sailor

Who's that knocking on my door?
Who's that knocking on my door?
Who's that knocking on my door?
Said the fair young maiden
It's only me from over the sea
Said Bollocky Bill the Sailor

I'll come down and let you in
I'll come down and let you in
I'll come down and let you in
Said the fair young maiden

And where am I going to sleep tonight
Said Bollocky Bill the Sailor

You may sleep upon the mat
You may sleep upon the mat
You may sleep upon the mat
Said the fair young maiden

Oh bugger the mat, I can't sleep on that
Said Bollocky Bill the Sailor

You can sleep between my thighs
What have you got between your thighs

I have got a pin-coshion
And I've got a pin, and I'll stick it in

What if there should be a child?
Strangle the bastard as soon as it's born

What about the Police Force?
Bugger the Police and fuck the Force

But if there should be an inquest?
Stuff the inquest up your arse

Whan shall I see you again?
Never no more, you fucking whore

(music)

(who's mildly ashamed to put this up here, but she asked...)

[nyctom]

[This message has been edited by nyctom (edited February 04, 2002).]

[Terese Coe]

Can anyone interpret:

yauld, hurdies fyke, claes, wyme?

Robert Burns' version of "John Anderson, My Jo" (according to Tony McCarthy's Bawdy British Folk Songs):

John Anderson, my jo John, I wonder what ye mean
To lie sae lang i'the morning and sit sae late at e'en?
Ye'll blear a' your een, John, and why do ye so?
Come sooner to your bed at e'en, John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo John, when that ye first began
Ye had as good a tail-tree as any other man.
But now it's waxin' wan, John, and wrinkles to and fro
And aft requires my helping hand, John Anderson, my jo.

When we were young and yauld, John, we've lain-out owre the dyke
And oh! it was fine thing to see your hurdies fyke.
To see your hurdies fyke, John, and strike the rising blow
'Twas then I liked your chanter-pipe, John Anderson, my jo.

John Anderson, my jo John, you're welcome when you please,
It's either in the warm-bed or else aboon the claes.
Do your part aboon, John, and trust to me below,
I've twa gae-ups for your gae-down, John Anderson, my jo.

When ye come on before, John, see that ye do your best,
When I begin to haud ye, see that ye grip me fast.
See that ye grip me fast, John, until that I cry: 'Oh!'
Your back shall crack, or I do that, John Anderson, my jo.

I'm backit like a salmon and breastit like a swan,
My wyme is like a down-cod, my waist ye weel may span.
My skin fra tap to toe, John, is like the new-fa'n snow,
And it's all for your conveniency, John Anderson, my jo.

[David Anthony]

Terese, what a lovely, wistful poem.
The bawdiness is just a cloak for the sadness for the passing of time, for the human condition, and for the love that recognises that powers fail but shines still.
Thanks for posting this.
David