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Anne Hathaway: On Her Famous Husband's Yearly Visit

You old baboon with pox red sores,
You mount me like your tavern whores,
Am I to swoon and faint with pleasure
That you've returned to ease your leisure;
You hayseed bumpkin, you thread bare fop,
You ride me like a saddled mop,
And squeeze me tightly round the throat
And besiege me with your belly bloat;
You dropp some coins upon the bed,
Am I a whore or a wife wed?
You complain I'm wrinkled, getting fat,
You scrawny toad whose ass doth flap;
With your garters and your silken hose,
I see the rats nibble at your toes;
We all must scamper, our Lord's returned,
May he be staked and public burned

poem by David McLansky
Added by Poetry Lover
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