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By all love's
soft, yet mighty powers,
It is a thing unfit,
That
men should fuck in time of flowers,
Or when the
smock's beshit.
Fair nasty nymph, be clean and
kind,
And all my joys restore;
By using paper
still behind,
And sponges for before.
My
spotless flames can ne'er decay,
If after every
close,
My smoking prick escape the fray,
Without a
bloody nose.
If thou would have me true, be wise,
And take to cleanly sinning,
None but fresh lovers'
pricks can rise,
At Phyllis in foul linen.
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