Without saponaceous aid,
With a shower of London smuts—and I'm losing hope,
Getting daily a dingier shade,
In a futile search for a genuine Toilet-soap
That has shunned meretricious parade!
VI.
My villa would be—when it's furnished—the cosiest nest,
But I fear it is doomed to be bare;
For upholsterers' puffs are now a persistent pest,
And so shamelessly each will declare