| Bring me to the blasted oak |
| That I, midnight upon the stroke, |
| (All find safety in the tomb.) |
| May call down
curses on his head |
| Because of my dear Jack that’s dead. |
| Coxcomb was the least he said: |
| The solid
man and the coxcomb. |
|
|
|
|
| Nor was he Bishop when his ban |
| Banished Jack the Journeyman, |
| (All find safety
in the tomb.) |
| Nor so much as parish priest, |
| Yet he, an old book in his fist, |
| Cried that we lived like beast
and beast: |
| The solid man and the coxcomb. |
|
|
|
|
| The Bishop has a skin, God knows, |
| Wrinkled like the foot
of a goose, |
| (All find safety in the tomb.) |
| Nor can he hide in holy black |
| The heron’s hunch upon his back, |
| But a birch-tree stood my Jack: |
| The solid man and the coxcomb. |
|
|
|
|
| Jack had my virginity, |
| And bids me to
the oak, for he |
| (All find safety in the tomb.) |
| Wanders out into the night |
| And there is shelter under it, |
| But
should that other come, I spit: |
| The solid man and the coxcomb. |