3 - 5
Let’s live my arty girl and let us love
and give for the gibes and ogling of the olds
just what they’re worth – approximately 1p.
Invariably the suns will fall and rise
but we have this one bright day and then no more
except for a night – the longest – to sleep through.
So give me a thousand kisses then a hundred,
And then a thousand more, then a second hundred,
And then yet another thousand-then-a-hundred.
Then when we’ve tallied up all these many thousands
we’ll jumble up the count so we don’t know
and no fiend can put the evil eye on us
by knowing the final sum of all our kisses.
8 - 24
Oh honeybunch, of boys you are the fruit
– not just of our age, no, but since men were
in the beginning, are, and ever shall be –
I’d rather see you give the City’s wealth
to him (who has no worldly goods or savings)
than let yourself be loved by him this way.
What, isn’t he too sweet? you ask. He is.
He’s sweet and has no worldly goods nor savings.
You’ll brush that off, so let me just repeat:
He hasn’t any worldly goods or savings.