Creator by your rare impersonation
Of Melisande, a Master's fine creation,
At your seductive charm, we cry again,
“May God have pity on the hearts of men.”

Have you heard of Jack Marbury, he from the West?
He's a terror at cards—
But his heart is the best.
Oh! the maids he caressed,
And the sins he confessed.
But he's white just the same
For he'll take all the blame,—
Have you heard of Jack Marbury, he from the West?

Could “Everyman” and every woman too,
But hear your voice as we were wont to do,
In deep rich tones invoking prayer or praise,
Then Every Man were better all his days.

Thou lowest scoundrel of the scoundrel kind,
Extract of all the dregs of all mankind. . . .
I'll make thy dunghill reputation s—k,
Write thee to death with thy own pens and ink.

Boy, lead a cow to the northern village,
let's taste new wine.
My face is rosy with drink,
I'll return on cow-back in the moonlight.
Hurrah, I am a Fu Hsi tonight,
ancient glories at my fingertips.

Boy, bring my morning porridge,
much work to be done in the southern field.
Who will help me to work
my clumsy plowing?
Let it be, we can plow in peace
because of royal favor.

Boy, bring my sedge cape and bamboo hat,
it rains at the eastern torrent.
With a long fishing rod
and barbless hook I go.
Fishes, don't be startled!
I came here in high spirits.

Boy, gather your straw basket,
the sun sets on the western hills.
The fern that grew last night
may be already withered.
What should I eat in morning and evening
if there are no fiddleheads?

I am the thunder of my tribe.
I am the seamonster of my tribe.
I am the earthquake of my tribe.
When I start to fly the thunder resounds through the world.
When I am maddened, the voice of the seabear resounds through the world.

When I am grown up I shall go and stoop digging clams.
When I am grown up I shall go and splash in the water digging clams.
When I am grown up I shall stoop down digging clams.
When I am grown up I shall go picking berries.