MYSELF: And is it, so far, as you'd wish?
GILL: Well, father, though it's rather swish,
I think it needs a deal more love--
MYSELF: Swish? How--what's this? Great heavens
above!
Will you, pray, miss, explain to me
How any story "swish" may be?
And why, my daughter, you must choose
A frightful word like "swish" to use?
What hideous language are you talking?
GILL: Sorrow, father! "Swish" means "corking."
I think our Geste is "out of sight,"
Except that, to please me, you might
Put in more love--
MYSELF: Now, how can Joc'lyn go love-making
When his head is sore and aching?
Besides, this is no place to woo;
He'll love-make when I want him to.
GILL: But, father, think--in all this time,
In all this blank-verse, prose and rhyme,
The fair Yolande he's never kissed,
And you've done nothing to assist;
And, as I'm sure they're both inclined,
I think your treatment most unkind.
MYSELF: This Geste I'll write in my own way,
That is, sweet Prattler, if I may;
When I'm ready for them to kiss,
Then kiss they shall; I promise this.
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