Prudence
Love said, sighing, to Apollo,
“Times are hard, and I must be,
Ere I yield my all, protected
By some solid guarantee.”
“Yes,” the god of song said, laughing,
“Times are changed; you speak and frown
Like some ancient money-lender
Who demands his pledges down.
“Ah, my lyre's my only treasure,
But the gold is good and pure.
Say, how many kisses, darling,
Do you think it might procure?”
“Times are hard, and I must be,
Ere I yield my all, protected
By some solid guarantee.”
“Yes,” the god of song said, laughing,
“Times are changed; you speak and frown
Like some ancient money-lender
Who demands his pledges down.
“Ah, my lyre's my only treasure,
But the gold is good and pure.
Say, how many kisses, darling,
Do you think it might procure?”
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