But why, apt this centred Sidhe decide In her own Verbs your Best Herbiage enchant And mix the addled *** O' Mandrake hide Then by Best Pour that Mantra she'll incant: "Impart this Softling! Nee' Life concentrate! Rose-Round vye Princey-Noose to Shape betroth! Reform Adonis! To Makeroose State! Swell this Fruit from the Garden of Naboth!" By Fruit she meant Grape. Which tempted the Fig To feign its **** for your barrows be sweet Which, even a wee, expand your Heart big Praising one day your Late Romance repeat. Even she of her Onerous Chants aware Hugged dear Naboth his Murdered Earth laid bare.