Regime de vivre

I rise at eleven, I dine about two,

I get drunk before seven; and the next thing I do,

I send for my whore, when for fear of a clap,

I spend in her hand, and I spew in her lap.

Then we quarrel and scold, 'till I fall fast asleep,

When the bitch, growing bold, to my pocket does creep;

Then slyly she leaves me, and, to revenge the affront,

At once she bereaves me of money and cunt.

If by chance then I wake, hot-headed and drunk,

What a coil do I make for the loss of my punk!

I storm and I roar, and I fall in a rage,

And missing my whore, I bugger my page.

Then, crop-sick all morning, I rail at my men,

And in bed I lie yawning 'till eleven again.

 John Wilmot, 2nd Earl of Rochester (1647-1680)