That makes celibacy of so much practice;
For who would bear the impatient thirst for bliss,
The yearnings for some gentle confidant
The amatory frenzies of one’s loneliness,
The loss of buttons, and of large joints of meat,
When he himself, might his quietus make
With a bare Wedding ring? Who would lodgings bear,
To groan and sweat under extortionate landladies,
But that the dread of helpless and expensive wives—
Those prodigies of modern training—puzzles the will,