Mine Arse Doth Sing So Merrily To Day

"Upon a Fart unluckily let," in Musarum deliciae: or, The Muses recreation. Conteining Severall Pieces of Poetique Wit. The second Edition. By Sr J.M. and Ja: S. (London: Printed by J.G. for Henry Herringman, 1656), pp. 37-39:

Well Madam, wel, the Fart you put upon me
Hath in this Kingdome almost quite undone me.
Many a boystrous storm, & bitter gust
Have I endur'd, by Sea, and more I must:
But of all storms by Land, to me 'tis true,
This is the foulest blast that ever blew.
Not that it can so much impaire my credit,
For that I dare pronounce, 'twas I, that did it.
For when I thought to please you with a song,
'Twas but a straine too low that did me wrong;
But winged Fame will yet divulge it so,
That I shall heare of't wheresoe're I goe.
To see my friends, I now no longer dare,
Because my Fart will be before me there.
Nay more, which is to me my hardest doom,
I long to see you most, but dare not come;
For if by chance or hap, we meet together,
You taunt me with, what winde, Sir, blew you hither?
If I deny to tell, you will not fayle,
I thought your voice, Sir, would have drown'd your Taile;
Thus am I hamper'd wheresoe're you meet me,
And thus, instead of better termes you greet me.

I never held it such a heinous crime,
A Fart was lucky held, in former time;
A Foxe of old, being destitute of food,
Farted, and said, this news must needs be good,
I shall have food, I know, without delay,
Mine Arse doth sing so merrily to day;
And so they say he had. But yet you see
The Foxes blessing proves a curse to me.
How much I wronged am, the case is cleare,
As I shall plainly make it to appear.
As thus, of all men let me be forsaken,
If of a Fart can any hold be taken:
For 'tis a Blast, and we Recorded finde,
King Aeolus alone commands the winde.
Why should I then usurp, and undertake
The Subject of a Royall Prince to make
My Prisoner? No, but as my duty bindes,
Leave that command unto the King of windes.
So, when I found him struggling to depart,
I freely gave him leave with all my heart.
Then judge you, gentle Ladyes, of my wrong,
Am I not well requited for my Song?
All the revenge that I require is this,
That you may Fart as oft as e're you pisse;
So may you chance, the next time that we meet,
To vie the Ruffe, and I dare not to see't.

In the meane time, on knees devoutly bended,
My Tongue craves pardon, if my Taile offended.