Oh for the lengths I have had to go
And the further pains of my expression,
I want you to expect that they play to you virtues,
And that you hold over them a considerable advantage,
But like the muck-peddler I have devised the ruin of your purity,
And like the rough-shodder I have trampled your good name,
I am a perfect louse I bleed the goodness from your body,
To think I thought I could change
And oh to believe such piffle,
I long never to rest in the tomb of my family,
Or be hoist to the wind
May I be scattered here with you