Tit perfected, whiter than an egg,              
Tit of barnd new white satin,
Tit who puts the rose to shame,
Tit more beautiful than anything;
Hard tit,no,not a tit,
But a ball of ivory,
In the middle of which is set
A strawberry, or a cherry
Which no one sees or touches,
But i wager that it is so.
Tit,then,with little red tip,
Tit which never moves,
                                                                         Whether to come,or to go,
                                                                         Whether to run, or to dance.
                                                                          Left tit, lovely tit,
                                                                         Always far from its companion
                                                                         Tit which attests
                                                                         To the condition of the person.
                                                                         On seeing you there comes to many
                                                                         A desire in the hands
                                                                         To feel you,to hold you;
                                                                         But one has to refrain

   From coming any closer,bongre ma vie,
   Lest another desire be aroused.
 
   O Tit neither large nor small,
   Ripe Tit, hungry Tit
   Tit who night and day cries:
   'Marry me, marry me now!'
   Tit which swells and stretches
   Your gorget by a good two inches,
   With good reason will they call happy
   He who will fill you with milk,
   Making of a virgin's tit
   Tit of a woman whole and fine.