Nob

Though my blue-blood erection may throb,
And go purple and red at the knob,
I will not touch an arse
Of the mercantile class:
I’m at bottom, a sexual snob!

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!

Plummy

I’ve a penchant for lasses whose mums
Make them speak with a mouthful of plums,
Who wear tight skirts and heels,
Which nicely reveals
The sway of their silken-smooth bums.