Poem by Jonathan Swift

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. 

1. Dean Swift at Sir Arthur Acheson’s, in the North of Ireland
2. At Holyhead
3. Drapier’s Hill
4. Verses on Blenheim
5. On Stella's Birth-day 1719

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