The poem
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.