Sonnet V: To a Slovenly Lover
My lover is vexing, yet for love I thole
the sloven’s ways of her whose cups are stained,
unwashed, and chipped, all fouled so naught remains
from which to drink save this: a meagre bowl
alike to hounds. And drink! there is one sole
which she permits. Alas! I tried in vain
to change her loathsome ways, but she is fain
to savour solely wine as white as coal
burnt down to ash. Though t’would perhaps be nice
forgoing special wines, I love her still:
for though her favored wine comes at high price,
and others might forbid her drink her fill,
her gluttony is her single secret vice—
and she is ever careful not to spill.
