Their bed should be a masterpiece of ease,
A mother-of-pearl embrace for its twin pearls.
But where do you sleep now, and where am I?
Disdaining all the comforts of old use
We fall apart, are made ridiculous.
You in your cell toss miserably enough
Under thin blankets on a springless couch,
And I two hundred miles away or further
Wallow in this feather bed,
With nothing else to rest my gaze upon