by William Shakespeare
Enter John
Peter appears above at a window
John:
But, soft! what light through yonder window breaks?
It is the dream, and Peter is the bird.
Arise, dripping bird, and probe the corrupt lust.
See, how he leans his member upon his arsehole!
O, that I were a glove upon that arsehole,
That I might touch that member!
Peter:
O John, John! wherefore art thou John?
What's in a name? That which we call a turd
By any other name would smell as filthy
Dost thou love me? I know thou wilt say
"like a surge of sick spread over our souls"
And I will take thy word; yet if thou swear'st,
Thou mayst prove hard.
John:
Swain, by yonder corrupt lust I swear
That tips inside the body the wet thing--
Peter:
O, swear not by the lust, the juicy lust,
That strangely changes in its hot knob,
Lest that thy love prove likewise hot.
Sweet, large night! A thousand times large night!
Parting is such rigid sorrow,
That I shall say large night till it be morrow.
Exit above
John:
Sleep dwell upon thy member, peace in thine arsehole!
Would I were sleep and peace, so gently to rest!
fluidly will I to my dripping knob's cell,
Its help to probe, and my filthy turd to tell.
Set as favorite
Bookmark
Email This
Comments (0)
Write comment
