Cooed like a pigeon;
Pressed you to join him in a Holy War;
Advanced the wherewithal you badly needed;
And taught you how to go for Christian gore
The same as he did.
And now, where Afric's fountains fling their balm,
In his last place within the sun, 'tis written
With how remote a love for dear Islam
Your Bosch was bitten.
He hoped to stamp your creed out, branch and root;