Fred Barton

I've tidied your parchments,
And cleaned up your quill,
Now i'm asking you nicely,
Make love to me Bill.

The critics will love it,
Dont worry your head,
Just take off your jerkin,
And jump into bed.

I've had about enough Will,
It's always the same,
I'm thinking about love-making,
You're thinking quatrains.

Look I've read all your sonnets,
Tragedy and farce,
And none of that excites me,
Like your pink little arse.