There’s Nothing foul that we commit,
But what we write, and what we sh - t.
(Pt. 2, p. 13)
And the lack of some paper or material to clean the rear end provoked the following sentiment in the form of a litany:
From costive Stools, and hide-bound Wit,
From Bawdy Rhymes, and Hole besh - - t.
From Walls besmear’d with stinking Ordure,
By Swine who nee’r provide Bumfodder
Libera Nos----
(Pt. 4, p. 7)