Creep sighing through the willows.
I’d rather hear a merry tale
’Mid a group of jolly fellows.
You say ’tis sweet the stars to view
Upon the waters gleaming.
I’d rather see (’twixt me and you
And the post) my supper steaming.
While the Monk of Montaudon, an incorrigible satirist, thus descants on the ladies.
I am a saint of good repute, by mortals called St. Julian;
Being wanted much on earth I go not oft to realms cerulean.