 | The False Demetrius |  |
384
“And when you're Michael's wedded mate,
The Wasslers shall be singing—
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight—
While the merry bells are ringing.
So fresh, so fair,
So de bon air,
Trickt out so trim and nice,
You trip so neat,
Your nimble feet
Peep in and out like mice.
The Wasslers shall be singing—
One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight—
While the merry bells are ringing.
So fresh, so fair,
So de bon air,
Trickt out so trim and nice,
You trip so neat,
Your nimble feet
Peep in and out like mice.
“Your skin so dazzling to my sight,
Your lips so plump and rosy,
Your teeth in pearly rows so white,
Your breath like any posey;
When as I spy
Your roguish eye,
It darts so sweet a glance,
Pit-pat, pit-pat,
This way and that,
My heart begins to dance.”
Your lips so plump and rosy,
Your teeth in pearly rows so white,
Your breath like any posey;
When as I spy
Your roguish eye,
It darts so sweet a glance,
Pit-pat, pit-pat,
This way and that,
My heart begins to dance.”
| The False Demetrius | |