Ye Coffee House

Welcome to the Coffee House!

Guest posts are at the Lady’s discretion only. Any unsolicited requests will not be accepted. People who have used the Facebook page and this website to consistently promote their own work will definitely not be asked to contribute, so please do not ask.

Our most popular Guest Posts were written by those listed below:

Academy of Ancient Music

Adrian Tinniswood

London Baroque

Sunday Baroque

We soon hope to have a forum. In the meantime, enjoy some bawdy 17th-century poetry…

“The Egg Dance: Peasants Merrymaking in an Inn.” English Heritage, The Wellington Collection, Apsley House.

Come fill a cup of sherry
And let us be merry.
There shall be nought but pure wine
Make us lovesick or pine.
We’ll sigh whene’er we miss it,
For ’tis that that makes us jolly
And sing hey-trolly-lolly!

Dialogue by John Wilmot, Earl of Rochester:

Nell: When to the King I bid good morrow
With tongue in mouth, and hand on tarse,
Portsmouth may rend her c**t, for sorrow,
And Mazarin may kiss mine arse.

Portsmouth: When England’s monarch’s on my belly,
With prick in c**t, though double crammed,
Fart of mine arse for small whore Nelly,
And great whore Mazarin be damned.

King: When on Portsmouth’s lap I lay my head,
And Knight does sing her bawdy song,
I envy not George Porter’s bed,
Nor the delights of Madam Long.”

 

    “Good people, you are mistaken. I am the Protestant whore!” – Nell.

 

 “You have two palates, and the best below.”

 

    “Nor are his high desires above his strength;
    His sceptre and his prick are of a length;
    And she may sway the one who plays with th’other,
    And make him little wiser than his brother.
    Poor prince! they prick, like thy buffoons at Court,
    Will govern thee because it makes thee sport.
    ‘Tis sure the sauciest prick that e’er did swive,
    The proudest, premptoriest prick alive.
    Restless he rolls about from whore to whore,
    A merry monarch, scandalous and poor.”
    -Excerpt from “A Satire on Charles II” by John Wilmot, the Earl of Rochester.

Maids are grown so coy of late,
Forsooth, they will not marry!
Though they be in their teens and past
They say they yet can tarry.

The lass that is most coy of all,
Is she had time and leisure
Would lay by all her several thoughts
And turn to love and pleasure.
Winter nights are long, you know,
And bitter cold the weather.
Then who’s so fond to lie alone
When two may lie together?

 “To be a whore, despite of grace,
Good counsel and an ugly face,
And to distribute still the pox
To men of wit
Will seem a kind of paradox;
And yet
Thou art a whore, despite of grace,
Good counsel and an ugly face.”

– Charles Cotton