Picka picka-boo, you jolly thing of the night!
How immeasurable are your laughs
that seem to quench this insatiable echo.
Drumming into my mind, the marble-tunes
that roll the inexorable humours,
out of which your lips flow.
Keep that wealthy belly fed, and brimming
with the little smug bells that jingle
and make my hell-heart grow.
Out of the moonlight, He bellows out
promises, as we are, he is to,
an ear to this SHOW!
But then your rosy tots begins to pale,
and your knees subside in penitence,
because this you already know:
You have cheated the sad ones,
with your brows and jokes;
it’s time for you to go.