When I have fears that I may cease to stink,
Before my friends have breathed my steaming loins,
Before sty-vile fumes in couch cushions sink
From out rich corners of my full-ripen'd groin;
When I behold, upon a mate's sour'd face
Huge howling ripples of a great disgust
And feel that I may somehow never lace
Their nostrils, with a fully grody must;
And then my reek, fair creature lost to shower!
That I shall never sniff upon thee more,
Never have relish in the foetid power
Of unrelenting stench;--then at the roar
Of my roiling bath I slip within, and clean,
Till germs and yeasts down fouling drains do stream.
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