John Wilmot Quotes

All men would be cowards if they durst.

I hate the thing is called enjoyment: Besides it is a dull employment,It cuts off all that's life and fireFrom that which may be termed desire;Just like the bee whose sting is goneConverts the owner to a drone.

How blest was the created stateOf man and woman, ere they fell,Compared to our unhappy fate:We need not fear another hell.

A kind of losing loadum is their game,Where the worst writer has the greatest fame.

BOLLOXIMIAN:My pleasures for new cunts I will uphold,And have reserves of kindness for the old.I grant in absence dildo may be usedWith milk of goats, when once our seed’s infused.My prick no more to bald cunt shall resort—Merkins rub off, and often spoil the sport.POCKENELLO:Let merkin, sir, be banished from the court.PENE:'Tis like a dead hedge when the land is poor.

Cupid and Bacchus my saints are,May drink and love still reign,With wine I wash away my cares,And then to cunt again.

Then, if to make your ruin more,You'll peevishly be coy,Die with the scandal of a whoreAnd never know the joy.

Now piercèd is her virgin zone;She feels the foe within it.She hears a broken amorous groan,The panting lover's fainting moan,Just in the happy minute.