An Evening With the Poets

WHENAS in silks my Julia goes,
De win’ she blow, blow, blow;
My love is like a red, red rose.
The Bible tells me so.

Degenerate Douglas, king of men,
A mighty man is he:
“My strength is as the strength of ten —
Now wherefore stopst thou me?

“Gather ye rosebuds while ye may,
A little after taps.
Youlez-vous donner— qu’est-ee quo e’est —?”
“Perhaps, young man, perhaps.”

Thus Troy fell... By a river’s brim
I pluck you out of your cranny,
He for God only, she for God in him.
“What big teeth you have. Granny!”