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Blood smutches up Treasure’s dainty nose and mouth, streaks his expelled eyeball.

She hadn’t done anything to me, and the smutch of the mud against her blue gown — the prettiest dress I ever saw.

Within his dusky arms the wretch he caught, And with smutched lips, fuliginous and hot, Repaid the kiss which he to Christ had given.

In his address to the courteous reader he expresses his apprehensions that “some will smutch his labours with a scorne of his profession.”

Beata's words and feelings are still the dazzling white and pure fresh snow, just as they have fallen from heaven: no footprint and no step of age have yet smutched this splendor.