Are those tresses thickly twined,
Only hair-pinned on behind!
Is thy blush which roses mocks,
Bought at three-and-six per box?
Tell me, for I ask in woe—
Αῥτ θοῦ αλλ μᾶδε υπὁρνῶ?
And those lips I seem to taste,
Are they pink with cherry-paste?
Gladly I’d the notion, scout,
But do those white teeth take out?