Wench
Oh, ye scallywags
Ye think ye have this maid?
Your charming boons
Shall make me swoon
And in your bed be laid?
No! No! You bucks
You rusty mucks!
Ne’r with the likes of thee
My precious gift
Shall not be riffed
Not even for a fee!
I’ll serve your ale
And hear your tale
But then begone with you
For in my heart
Deep in the dark
Lies love that once was true.
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