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Poem by Thomas Parnell
Upon a Bed of humble clay In all her Garments loose A Prostitute my Mother lay To ev'ry Comer's use. 'Till one Gallant in heat of love His Own Peculiar made her And to a Region far above And softer Beds convey'd her. But in his Absence, to his Place His rougher Rival came And with a cold constrain'd Embrace Begat me on the Dame. I then appear'd to Publick View A Creature wondrous bright But shortly perishable too Inconstant, nice and light. On Feathers not together fast I wildly flew about And from my Father's country past To find my Mother out. Where her Gallant of her beguil'd With me enamour'd grew And I that was my Mother's Child Brought forth my Mother too.
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