Lieutenant Love, lead home thy dove,
(The flood is falling up above),
And have her bring an olive sprall
To prove the flood was but a waterfall.
(O, cynic Simon, have a care;
Twice have you jostled Roland Rare
With elbows angled in the air;
It seems that Polly’s witching face
Has so beguiled you with its grace
That you have lost your time and place.)