I'm drawn in by the colour and warmth of St. James's Park. This annoys me. I want to believe the gardens are too stage-managed with their immaculately manicured beds but they beckon. I leave with a spring in my step.
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A RAMBLE IN ST. JAMES' PARK. By John Wilmot Rochester.
Much wine had passed, with grave discourse
Of who fucks who, and who does worse
(Such as you usually do hear
From those that diet at the Bear),*
When I, who still take care to see
Drunkenness relieved by lechery,
Went out into St. James's Park
To cool my head and fire my heart.
But though St. James had th' honor on 't,
'Tis consecrate to prick and cunt...
Nightly now beneath shade
Are buggeries, rapes, and incests made.
Unto this all-sin-sheltering grove
Whores of the bulk and the alcove,
Great ladies, chambermaids, and drudges,
The ragpicker, and heiress trudges.
Carmen, divines, great lords, and tailors,
Prentices, poets, pimps, and jailers,
Footmen, fine fops do here arrive,
And here promiscuously they swive.
*The Bear Tavern in Drury Lane
Thank you so much, Rehan. I've come across vague mentions of the nocturnal recreations enjoyed in the park before but not this... I'm about to scribble it in my notebook.
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