Good day, dear Jane, my lusty broad
Why doth thee endless bitch?
In bed ye are quite full and frod
Or else ye'd get the switch.
Good day, dear Jane, my slutty lass
Why must ye nag and nurn?
Your lady wiles doth heal thy sass
Or else ye'd surely burn.
Verily vay, my Jane is skilled
In manners of the night.
For if she weren't, she'd be still'd
By my cracking, smacking might.
Good night, dear Jane, my lovely hare
Hop forth and bear thy breast.
Thou art of luck beyond compare
To bed beyond the rest.
...
Alas dear Jane, my bitter mirk
Twas wrong to make thee wrest.
Ye've gone and stuck a twisted dirk
Deep down inside my chest.
