Tag Archives: A Riddle

A Riddle – 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 … Continue reading

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Posted in Thomas Parnell (1679 - 1718 / Ireland) | Tagged , , | Leave a comment