COMPETITION

The cynic's reply

Jaspistos

IN COMPETITION NO. 2135 you were asked to supply, in the same metre, a pre- sent-day cynic's reply to Marlowe's Passionate Shepherd's invitation, 'Come live with me, and be my love. . . . '

There are two well-known mocking echoes of Marlowe's poem, one attributed to Walter Raleigh, the other by C. Day Lewis, with the memorable sardonic lines: I'll handle dainties on the docks And thou shalt read of summer frocks: At evening by the sour canals

We'll hope to hear some madrigals.

To make room for six worthy winners, who each get a prize of £25, I have squashed quatrains into continuous lines. The bottle of the Macallan Single Malt Highland Scotch whisky goes to Frank McDonald.

Ali, lusty lad, you cannot fool A woman with your gifts of wool, And, pardon me, we should be told Where you get buckles made of gold. You offer me a belt of straw To lie with one so green and raw, But I suspect, midst rustic peace You've practised loving on a fleece, And as for tales of amber studs Of rosy beds and opening buds,

It's plain you long to graduate From ovine love to human mate.

But I'm broad-minded; I don't care

What naughty deeds you've done and where;-

To hell with where your crook has been: I'm forty-five and you're sixteen. (FrankMcDonald) No, shepherd, your entreaty fails; Pray keep your fields, your hills and dales For someone more disposed to frolic With lambs and lover-boys bucolic. The country air, though hymned as pure, Is redolent of sheep manure, And pollens wafted on the breeze Afflict my nose and make me sneeze. Your bed of roses is no prize: I've got a waterbed, kingsize, On which to undulate — indeed, Not always unaccompanied.

Why would I want a rustic swain When there are urban men, urbane, Not by the cartload but the carload?

It's no go, shepherd — you're out-Marlowed.

(Ray Kelley) OK, I'll come and live with you; Let's try it for a week or two.

You've got the place, I like your pad; If we split up, then that's too bad.

Maybe we'll quarrel by and by, Or I may find some other guy.

Still, probably it's worth a go - It might work out, you never know.

You have your funny little ways, But you will be the one who pays.

What bothers me is, if I move, Is it your place, or you, I love?

I must admit you know what's what.

I'm tired of living in a squat And, after all, not many chaps Have bathrooms with gold-plated taps. (Geoffrey Riley) Kind sir, though filled with gratitude At being metrically wooed, The practicalities of life Count most with any future wife. Wattle and daub make sorry show Beside a concrete bungalow, And high-street banks we somehow find More useful than the grassy kind.

Unvarying organic diet Would cause my stomach sore disquiet, While bedding down each night with sheep Must gravely interfere with sleep.

You're quite an interesting man, So I propose a safer plan - That we continue, through the mail, A friendship less inclined to fail.

(Godfrey Bullard) Come live with you — in your damp flat, With furniture all kitsch and tat And TV meals of toast and beans?

Dear, you don't know what 'modem' means.

The modem woman has a plan That sometimes may include a man, But most of all esteems herself, Plus plenitudes of power and pelf.

Besides, whenever Eros calls We have vibrators, ben-wah balls.

Now we can give ourselves a treat Men do seem rather obsolete.

But tell you what — get on your bike And give your salary a hike.

A modern woman has affairs Traditionally, with millionaires. (G.M. Davis) `And be my love'? Ah yes, I know The power of that consuming glow To make what is seem what must be For now and man's eternity.

Confronted by this potent heat, Cool heads are wiser to retreat; They can be sure that such a blaze Will soon enough itself erase.

It is far better, I have learnt, To leave your bridges well unbumt, And not to take a tempting track That won't allow a turning back.

Love's lustre takes no time to fade, Its vows forgotten soon as made; For lovers' sighs mask lovers' wants - Their urgent words are simply pants.

(W.J. Webster)