Streets reeking with malarial ire—
Inviting foul disease and death.
Then, with a livid snort she called
Her trembling lover to her side—
"How dare you, wretched youth," she bawled,
"Ask me to be your blushing bride?
Go back unto your filthy town,
And never by my side be seen,
Nor hope to make me Mrs. Brown,
Until you've got your city clean!"