"Whenever, Lesbia, from your chair you rise, Your dress is tightly drawn between your thighs, And plays, I’ve noticed, in your hindmost site The active part of some vile sodomite: You strive, while plaintive sighs your lips escape, Left hand and right, to stop the woollen rape, Dragging your dress from ’twixt the tight’ning grips Of those twin Minyan rocks that grace your hips; But the moist lips of your poor longing quim Cling to your robe and glue you limb to limb. Would you be cured of such a hideous vice? Lesbia, nor rise nor sit is my advice, Lie on your bottom, free from clothes, and seek The aid of some stout youth to plug the leak."