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Jonathan Swift (Джонатан Свифт) Oysters Charming oysters I cry: My masters, come buy, So plump and so fresh, So sweet is their flesh, No Colchester oyster Is sweeter and moister: Your stomach they settle, And rouse up your mettle: They'll make you a dad Of a lass or a lad; And madam your wife They'll please to the life; Be she barren, be she old, Be she slut, or be she scold, Eat my oysters, and lie near her, She'll be fruitful, never fear her. Jonathan Swift's other poems:
Распечатать (Print) Количество обращений к стихотворению: 1726 |
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