Extempore

Oh Poet! sing me your sweetest song,
The world soon prove your singing wrong;
Oh Lover! sing me of your love's lore,
That love will demand you no more;
Fair Bumblebee! sing me of yon fair meadow,
Well I see, you of that mead nothing know;
Oh Lad! sing me of what you'd grow to be,
No matter, what are you to him or me;
Oh Lass! sing me of your youth and fun,
Your song will end when your work is done;
Oh Poet! sing me your sweetest song,
You do your duty with your golden tongue!