You inconsiderately beautiful person.
Stand there. I want to be insulted once again
By your bad charms. With every charm, they worsen:
That lazy lovable hair-bed smell of men;
Your bed-hair look. Your undeserving gait,
Your rogue design and all your surly warnings.
I spurn the idle lover, idle mate,
The unimpressive record of your mornings.
You utter bum. Don’t shoulder-shrug your duties
So broadly. The very world’s your stupefaction.
In working days your unindustrious beauties
Work me to harm, to restless rude distraction.
And by the wasted night do I discover
The fierce perfections foist upon your lover.