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