Classic Poem

If you become a nun, dear,
—A friar I will be;
In any cell you run, dear,
—Pray look behind for me.
The roses all turn pale, too;
The doves all take the veil, too;
—The blind will see the show;
What! you become a nun, my dear.
—I'll not believe it, no!

If you become a nun, dear,
—The bishop Love will be:
The Cupids every one, dear,
—Will chant, “We trust in thee!”
The incense will go sighing.
The candles fall a-dying,
—The water turn to wine:
What! you go take the vows, my dear?
—You may—but they'll be mine.