Classic Poem

Water from straws or wisps
is no love charm for thee;
'tis drawing to thee ardently
the love of him that pleaseth thee.

On Sunday rise thou early
to a level, broad flagstone;
and take with thee specimens
of butter-bur and monkshood;
lift those on thy shoulder
in a wooden shovel.

Get nine stalks of bracken,
cut down with an axe,
and three bones of an old man,
extracted from a grave;
burn it on a faggot fire,
and reduce the whole to ash.

Rub this on his white breast,
while facing the north wind,
and I'll go bail and guarantee
that man will not desert thee.