Z 268 Pox on you for a fop. [Neapolitan translation]

Pox on you for a fop, your stomach's too queasy.

Cannot I belch and fart, you coxcomb to ease me?

What if I let fly in your face and shall please ye?

Fogh, fogh, how sour he smells. Now he's at it again.

Out ye beast, I never met so nasty a man.

I'm not able to bear it, what the devil d'ye mean?

No less than a Caesar decreed with great reason,

no restraint should be laid on the bum or the weason,

for belching and farting were always in season.

• Artist:Henry Purcell
• Album:The Art of the Bawdy Song.