O woman of the wanton ,
be not at my bed you lay ,
for you are of the Lushus lip ,
a bed of violet hay .
You stalk my every move at night ,
you’re brazen soul employ ,
a whip and mace you keep like little bo peep ,
your smile is undeterred .

For you search the streets every night for pleasures no man should bear ,
a lamp or lighted candle stick to guide him  everywhere .

For When twilight comes you have fled ,

like a witch who’s spell is broken ,
and leaves man with a troubled heart ,
for which he is unspoken