Take me in your arms, Miss Moneypenny-Wilson,
Take me in your arms, Miss Bates;
Fatal are your charms, Miss Moneypenny-Wilson,
Fatal are your charms, Miss Bates;
Say you are my own, Miss Moneypenny-Wilson,
Say you are my own, Miss Bates;
You I love alone, Miss Moneypenny-Wilson,
You I love alone, Miss BAtes.

Sweet is the morn, Miss Moneypenny-Wilson;
Sweet is the dawn, Miss B.,
But Sweeter than the dawn and the daisies on the lawn
Are you; sweet nymphs, to me.
Sweet, sweet, sweet is the sugar to the beet,
Sweet is the honey to the bee,
But sweeter far than such sweets are
Are your sweet names to me.

Deaf to my cries, Miss Moneypenny-Wilson,
Deaf to my sighs, Miss B.,
Deaf to my songs and the story of my wrongs,
Deaf to my minstrelsy;
Deafer than the newt to the sound of a flute,
Deafer than a stone to the sea;
Deafer than a heifer to the sighing of a zephyr
Are your deaf ears to me.

Cold, cold, cold as the melancholy mould,
Cold as the foam-cold sea
Colder than the shoulder of a neolithic boulder
Are the shoulders you show to me.
Cruel, cruel, cruel is the flame to the fuel,
Cruel is the axe to the tree,
But crueller and keener than a coster's concertina
Is your cruel, cruel scorn to me.