You lift high your sole, and bend your head down;
Or, cut it in twain, two V’s will appear,
And V counting five, both make ten it is clear.
My second, alas! comes shrouded in gloom,
It is O, which makes wo, the sinner’s sad doom.
Now see what a change comes over the scene,
If my third, which is O, be added again.
Now ’tis woo—and what bachelor’s heart does not beat,
To woo a sweet damsel, to keep warm his feet;
To cheer by her smiles his lone hours—and thus