Verse > Anthologies > T. R. Smith, ed. > Poetica Erotica: A Collection of Rare and Curious Amatory Verse
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T. R. Smith, comp.  Poetica Erotica: Rare and Curious Amatory Verse.  1921–22.
 
When Scorching Phœbus
Percy’s Folio Manuscript
 
(Anonymous)

WHEN scorching Phœbus he did mount,—
    Tous-jour bon temps,—
Then Lady Venus went to hunt,
    Parmi les champs.
To whom Diana did resort,        5
With all the Ladies of hills and valleys,
    of springs and floods,
To show where all the princely sport,
With hound imbrued, and hearts pursued,
    through groves and woods.        10
 
This tender hearted lover’s Queen,—
    Tous-jour bon temps,—
Such wand’ring sports had seldom seen,
    Parmi les champs.
She took no pleasure in the same,        15
To see hounds merry, and poor hearts weary
    for want of breath.
Quoth she, “I like better that game
Where ladies beauties do pay their duties
    to love’s sweet death.”        20
 
The air was hot, and she was dry,—
    Tous-jour bon temps,—
To Bacchus court she fast did hie—
    Parmi les champs.
Her faint and weary heart [to] cherish,        25
Which was so fired, that she desired
    To quench her thirst,
And cried, “Help Bacchus, or else I perish!”
Who still did hold her, and plainly told her
    he would kiss her first.        30
 
Then Bacchus with a power divine,—
    Tous-jour bon temps,—
Himself turned to a butt of wine,—
    Parmi les champs,—
And bade this lady drink her fill,        35
And take her pleasure in any measure,
    and make no waste;
And gave her leave to suck the quill,
Which was spriteful and delightful
    unto her taste.        40
 
At last this butt did run a tilt—
    Tous-jour bon temps,—
Quoth she, “One drop shall not be spilt,
    Parmi les champs,
For it doth pleasing taste so well,        45
My heart doth will me for to fill me
    of this sweet Vine;
I would that I might always dwell
In this fair Arbor! here’s so good harbor,
    and pleasant wine.”        50
 
She drunk so long, ere she had done,—
    Tous-jour bon temps,—
Her belly swelled like a tun,
    Parmi les champs.
At last she fell in pieces twain;        55
And being asunder, appeared a wonder,
    God Priapus!
Yet fain she would have drunk again;
And oft did visit, and much solicit
    God Biacchus.        60
 
His empty cask would yield no more,—
    Tous-jour bon temps,—
For she had sucked it full sore,
    Parmi les champs.
Quoth she, “God Bacchus, change thy shape;        65
For now thy rigour, and all thy vigour,
    Is clean decayed.
Behold [thou] here this new-born babe,
Who when he is proved, he’ll be beloved
    of wife and maid.”        70
 
This belly god that would be drunk—
    Tous-jour bon temps,—
And being a goddess, proved a punk,
    Parmi les champs.
Her lusty bastard stiff and strong,        75
Was made and framed, and also named,
    god Bacchus heir.
He had a nose three handful Long,
With one eye bleared, and all besmeared
    about with hair.        80
 
He is the god of rich and poor—
    Tous-jour bon temps;—
He openeth every woman’s door,
    Parmi les champs.
He ceaseth all debate and strife,        85
And gently ’peaseth, and sweetly pleaseth
    the hungry womb.
He is the joy twixt man and wife;
Her pleasure lasteth, and sweeter tasteth
    than honey comb.        90
 
Now all you nice and dainty dames,—
    Tous-jour bon temps,—
To use this god, think it no shame,
    Parmi les champs.
Then let my speeches not offend,        95
Tho you be gaudy, and I be bawdy
    and want a rod!
Good deeds shall speeches fault amend
When you are willing for to be billing
    with this sweet god.        100
 
 
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