Sunday morning

In the front pew, throughout the long sermon,
The squire’s wife squirmed in her ermine.
She grimaced and twitched,
And she scratched where it itched:
It was plain she was crawling with vermin!

Game

A young gamekeeper, doing his rounds,
Saw the mistress out walking the grounds:
He eyed Lady Chatterley,
Dressed rather nattily,
Tongue hanging out like his hound’s!