(Fatuous) Intermezzo

Ode to Cleanliness
Content in a tub
My mind ranged back through the ages
Fingered its way through history's sullied pages
Now, a custom past puzzles me: it's the matter of the nose
For who can deny that man has always distinguised between ordure and rose?
Picture the scene: a knave in bed with his wench
-- the reek from each orifice would cause a God-awful stench
A french-kiss from her could cause a night of insomnia
filled with desperate prayers for chronic anosmia!
... so as I wash off the grime, become ever more fragrant
I give thanks to the tub which rids the scent of the vagrant.